WHERE SIN FEELS LIKE HOME
Brynn pulled back with her eyes bright and her mascara definitively not fine and her expression the specific one she wore when she was happy and knew it and didn't need to say so.
"Happy New Year," she said to me.
"Happy New Year," I said back.
She looked at her father. "Happy New Year, you annoying man."
"Happy New Year," he said. He was looking at her but I felt him not looking at me in the specific way I had come to recognize, the deliberate redirect, the conscious choice of where his eyes went.
I looked at the fireworks.
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We stayed at the window for a while after that, the three of us, until the fireworks finished and Paris settled into its slightly-after-midnight version of itself st
Bab Populer