Andrews "Stop it," I said turning back to the mirror. "You might have this sort of a conversation with your bubble-gum friends, but not with me." "I'm just wondering what you do then," she said with a shrug. I spun back on her. "You're wondering what we do? We do what mature adults do. We go to dinner. We talk. We admire the scenery. We go to art galleries or to the community theater or a film and talk about the story, the characters. We get to know each other better to see if we really belong together, and then, then, after we are comfortable with each other, we develop in other ways," I lectured. She burst into laughter. "What is so funny, Belinda?" "By then you'll both have gray hair and no teeth," she declared. "But I won't have to hide a pregnancy or be thrown out of a finishing school," I countered. Her smile flew off her face like a frightened bird and was quickly replaced by a scowl. "I was just trying to be funny, Olivia. You don't have to get nasty." "I'm going to be late," I said wanting to abruptly end the silly conversation.
