I knew Deborah didn’t like me before Russell ever told me she didn’t.
Women like her don’t say things plainly. They say things like, “That dress is very brave of you,” or “You must feel so relieved to finally have some stability.”
They smile when they say it. They make you wonder afterward if you imagined the blade.
Deborah didn’t like me.
I tried for three years to change her mind. I sent thank-you notes after every dinner.
I invited her to the dress fitting twice.
I let her weigh in on the flowers, even though she chose something she complained about at every subsequent meeting.