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He was standoffish

I pretend that he might’ve been scared I would kick his ass

Seriously Lizzie tell me what’s going on for real. I promise I won’t tell

This message is from only a few minutes ago. He’s not sleeping yet. I could call him—I want to call him. But I also feel I can’t.

Liz: Hey Bobby

Don’t worry, I’m okay

Settling in, looking for jobs and such

Don’t worry about me

Bobby: What the hell happened?

Liz: You know

Bobby: But you stormed off and left town FFS

Like you witnessed a murder or something

Wait, did you witness a murder?

Liz:

The murder of my dreams maybe

Bobby: I’m so sorry Lizzie

Liz: Don’t be. Actually, I’m honestly not

Bobby: ???

Liz: I am really fine. Like, surprisingly fine

I might have to send Jake a fruit basket or something to thank him

I think he did us both a favor, although I am pretty sure he never meant to

Bobby: Well, congratulations then I guess?

Liz: Thank you. I’m really okay. Doing well

Bobby: And you won’t tell me where you are?

Liz: Not yet. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that no one can resist Mom’s interrogation technique consisting of a patented cocktail of persistence, guilt trips, and delicious food that makes a person way too relaxed and lowers their guard

Bobby: You sound good. Like you used to. When we were kids

Liz: ???

Bobby: He did dull your spark, you know. I saw it. I think even Mickey saw it. He told me. He said he didn’t like him for Lizzie

Liz: WTF Bobby? How is this the first time I hear any of this?

Bobby: I don’t know. We don’t talk about stuff like that