Forcing a smile, I straightened up and replied, “You’re different too. Prettier.”
Kim, with her cascading waves, fitted camisole dress, and edgy motorcycle jacket, radiated confidence and allure—completely transformed from the sweet girl-next-door she’d been two years ago.
“You forgot? We got our hair permed together!” she teased, tossing her curls dramatically before slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, I’m treating you to dinner! Oh, and I brought you a gift!”
Yes, we had gotten our hair permed together once.
Back then, if Edna had dragged Kim to the salon, she would’ve emerged smiling, praising “me” for my impeccable taste.
During dinner, Kim did most of the talking while I listened. She noticed something was off and asked a few probing questions, but when I avoided answering, she eventually let it go.
Before we parted, she handed me an out-of-print piano CD.
The fake Edna had mentioned it to Kim just once, and yet Kim remembered.