I took her to the lake and we smeared mud on our faces. It barely showed on her, and when she laughed, the water rippled.
We drove home two hours later than we promised; “it took so long to wash off!” We told them.
I didn’t say I kissed the river off her lips.
I sat on the floor of my bathroom on a pink carpet and picked the dirt from under my fingernails. The phone rang in the hall and went straight to voicemail; she sounded like her lips were chapped. All I could taste was the lake.