Then I washed my face and looked in the mirror.
“Lily is not Maggie,” I whispered.
A woman who was washing her hands two sinks away looked at me in a shake.
I pretended I hadn't said anything.
“Lily is not Maggie.”
That afternoon, I came home and I didn't say anything to Paul.
I waited until the next night.
“There’s a new girl in my second-hour class,” I said while we were having dinner.
Paul looked up. “Yes?”
“She looks like Maggie.”
His fork stopped.
“There’s a new girl in my second-hour class.”
It was only a second, but something changed on his face before the pain invaded him.
I immediately regretted saying it.
“Not exactly,” I added. I mean, obviously I don't know what Maggie would look like now. But this girl... God, Paul. He's got his eyes. And the same expression when you're thinking.
Paul left the fork.
