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Summary
Zosia tucks an errant strand of Carol’s hair behind her ear, and her hand lingers there afterward, cupping Carol’s jaw, as Helen often did, and Carol stops her, pulling back from the kiss, with a hand on Zosia’s collarbone.
“Please,” says Carol. “Not Helen. Or anyone else I’ve ever slept with. Leave them out of it. You know who they are.”
“We do,” says Zosia.
“Give me a blank slate,” says Carol. “Give me teenage fumbling.”