Vera took a literal deep breath and pressed send and waited for Iris to type back, but instead, Iris logged off.

Vera sat in the quiet of her room alone.

She left and stood at the top of her stairs overlooking the kitchen. One of her roommates was making dinner. “Do you want company?” Vera said.

“Sure. That sounds nice.”

“What are you making?”

“Curry. Want some?”

They ate together at the little table, the roommate scrolling on an iPhone. Suddenly, Vera said in a rush, “Something shitty happened tonight and I don’t want to talk about it but I think it would help for me to be around people this evening. Though if you’re busy, it’s okay.”

The roommate looked up and her resting grimace face softened. She put down her phone and motioned to it. “Sorry. I was listening. Don’t ever get one of these fucking things; you’ll never look at a human again. I’m sorry something shitty happened. Unfortunately, I have homework, but if it sounds helpful you can come over to my room and read or something like that. Does that sound like something you’d want to do?”

It did. Vera read on the roommate’s bed until fatigue overcame her, and then she crawled into her room with melancholy gratitude. I need people to care about me, she thought. I need people to hear me. I need someone I love to hear me.

It struck Vera that the old her was never great about articulating her desires or needs. That’s something, she thought.

The next morning, an email from Iris. Sorry I couldn’t talk last night. But you accused me of the worst thing I could think of …

It went on from there. Vera closed her computer and decided she would wait a day before responding. Vera was starting to feel pissed off at Iris. Vera was starting to feel angry about a lot of things, actually, Iris just being one of them. But with Iris, Vera focused on that term she’d used: “hybrid body.” It made Vera feel cold, like a machine, a product. An invention.

And so the next day, Vera didn’t respond. She didn’t have to respond, she thought, not if she didn’t want to. She didn’t have to do anything concerning this woman she didn’t want to! No!

A week later, Iris texted: Hey mama I know shit’s awkward as hell. Do you want to get lunch and talk about it? Just if you want.

They met at a bistro off Union Square, Iris half an hour late thanks to a bus that was slower than if she’d walked. She blathered about her job and her whackadoodle artist uncle, until Vera, stony-faced, said, “We need to talk about stuff.”

Immediately, Iris hunched over herself. “I know, I know.” Her eyes were on her plate, set in deep embarrassment behind her white glasses. It made Vera feel wretched. Iris had always been so assured, so commanding, and to see an Iris that was not those things filled Vera’s insides with ugly liquid. “I’m sorry,” Iris said. “I’m sorry I did that to you. I don’t even remember what happened, honestly. Which is frightening when I think about it. And probably means figuring out some drinking shit for me.”