gestures cassondra cline My voice gets quieter with him, my gestures smaller. We took a bath together and he laughed. I looked over my back when he pulled me to him, at my face in the slowly fogging mirror. Watched myself kiss his inner neck, my flushed face, hair dripping at the ends. Eyes too big, too scared. He quoted from that Seinfeld episode— “We can have sex but still be ‘just friends,’ no obligation to spend the night, no mandatory phone calls the next day . . .” He laughed too much, his hands shifting beneath the bubbles. “Is this okay with you?” My reflection steamed over, I closed my eyes, nodded, slightly.