Lyric asks
leaning against the counter
across from me.
Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.
Two of the jazz greats.
You’ve never heard of them?
Lyric shrugs and starts to sway a bit.
Grammy probably knows them
but no, I don’t think I’ve heard this song.
It’s refreshing.
If I have to hear “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”
one more time
I’m gonna light something on fire.
Whoa, now.
Please do not commit arson
over one of the worst
most rapey Christmas songs ever.
I beg you. It’s not worth it.
No promises, Lyric says
smiling and beginning to
tap her foot along with the song.
I don’t even think
about what I do next
I just take her hands in mine.
What—she begins.
Will you just trust me?
I say slowly.
We lock eyes
and she doesn’t move away
so I pull her in close
