“Wait, what kind of car do you drive?”
She is my cousin’s little girl. Blond, California-born and raised, nearly as tall as I am, and presently obsessed with cars. We are walking through downtown Seattle together. I’ve been back from Cambodia for less than a week.
“A 2002 KIA Spectra,” I reply, “with power locks.”
This last bit I say with just a little bit too much gusto, and she laughs. Immediately, I confess to the lie.
“It doesn’t have power locks.”