You tell her about the box, and the name, and the years, and she listens with her hands folded.

NessaI know. I've always known. He told me when I was nineteen and never mentioned it again.

She takes your face in both hands and kisses you like a decision instead of an apology.

She gets the dress off, pushes you onto the bed and climbs on top, and that is how you find out it was all she had on.

She rides you slow and deliberate, one hand on your chest, talking about the house and the years and what she will do with a day.

NessaNow open the box. Now that you know what I am.