I gave him one of my many looks. He told me once that I have exactly 17 different exasperated looks and he can make me give each of them. He got look number 12 for that remark.

“There’s nothing that needs fixing.”

“Come on, Nat! Don’t you ever want a boyfriend?”

I turned around to stir the brown rice I was making. “No, actually, I don’t.”

“Fred will be awfully sorry to hear that.” I could hear Ted’s smirk. Not that the boy stopped smirking. He smirks in his sleep. He’s crashed on my couch enough times for me to know that.

“This,” he made a dramatic gesture he’d used for one of the various high school plays he’d been in, “is Fred.”

Fred apparently missed his cue.

“Duh, duhduh DAH !” Or not.

A boy with shocking red hair and a face speckled with freckles jarred at the sliding glass patio door that is always open when anyone is home. There’s a trick to it. After awhile, and after Ted had gone up and opened it, Fred walked in and waved at me. He looked shy. Shy and I don’t mix.