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I’d expected her to laugh about it, but her eyes filled with tears. | I’d expected her to laugh about it, but her eyes filled with tears. | ||
“It was you?” she said. “You fucked my boyfriend?” | “It was you?” she said. “You fucked my boyfriend?” | ||
It surprised me, to see her cry. She yanked her sweater away, and I felt the | |||
cold surround me. I protested, but she wouldn’t listen. Even if I’d told the truth about what happened, I saw she wouldn’t care. | |||
Somehow, I urged her back to the house, to the party. I found the friends I had arrived with, but they weren’t ready to leave, so I found the boy giving the party, the one who would become my husband, and he and I climbed into his car. We drove into a snowbank that night, and the police came, and I was taken home in a cruiser to my mother, who answered the door in her floral printed robe. “Aren’t you a little old for this sort of behavior?” she said, barring my way inside. | |||
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