“I’m not her anymore, and I don’t want to be. Look at what she ended up with. A husband who cheated and then killed her….. Everyone just got on with their lives without me. Easily.” I point out and then jump at the sudden invasion of a door knock. It’s a rattle of an impatient person.
“No guesses who that might be!” Greta states blankly. “He barely gave you breathing room on the boat or in the car, and now he can’t give you an hour to unpack. Anyone would think he cares.” She rolls over onto her belly, making it clear she’s not answering it, and I eyeroll.
“Get off of those before they wrinkle and put them away.” I smack her ass with a substantial wallop that makes her yelp and run off before she retaliates. Giggling at her show of fierce and knowing she will pay me back for it at some point. We have an immature rel
