Zoe nodded. By then they’d sat at a picnic table with coffees. Zoe hadn’t talked much, but she’d been listening deeply. “I do.”

“I don’t want to see her anymore. I don’t want her in my life anymore. I don’t know why, I don’t know why yesterday made me feel so weird.” (Though Vera knew exactly why: It was how she felt when Iris reached for her hand. It felt so silly. Iris’d clearly meant it as a gesture of friendly affection, yet Vera instantly felt as gross as when in bed Iris had—well, whatever.) “I just know I need it to be over. Is that fucked up? Is there something wrong with that?”

“No,” Zoe said after a pause. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t think you ever have to keep someone in your life you don’t want to. I think the question is whether you owe her that conversation. It sounds like you’ve decided that you don’t. That one’s on you. But if you don’t want her around, that’s okay full stop, honey.”

Vera sobbed a little bit. She wiped her eyes. “Sorry. I’ve always been a crier.”

Zoe offered her hand, and Vera took it and squeezed.

“You’re nice,” said Vera, blinking tears in the sunlight. “You’re nice to me. You’re one of the nicest fucking people I’ve met in this city.”

“The world isn’t very nice to us,” said Zoe quietly. “So we have to be.”

“Thanks, Oprah.” Vera paused. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine. Just. Some trans women are awful to each other. I wish more of us could be friends.”

Vera nodded. “I made this friend in Portland? One of us. She helped me come out, too. She was like a sister. She helped me through so much bullshit. I haven’t heard from her in months. She just stopped responding to me. She had her own shit, I know. Maybe I hounded her too much. I used to need this a lot more. To process stuff. Ask any of my friends from high school; they were all my fucking therapists. I guess that’s what girlfriends are for. I never opened up to them, though … Sorry, I’m rambling.” She stared ahead moodily. “I talk about shit less now. What I’m doing with you today, it’s unusual now. Lucky you.”

“Sorry about your friend.”

Vera breathed out. “I dunno if I need to talk more about”—the name suddenly took a strange shape in her mouth—“Iris. This weird thing just needs to end.” She slapped her hands on the table. “Okay.

Okay.”

“How are you?” Vera said after a silence. “You’ve heard my bullshit all day.”

Zoe grimaced. “Been better. I may have to leave town.”

Vera’s heart sank. “Oh no. What’s going on?”

“I think my company’s going under. I hear companies that don’t exist don’t need receptionists. It’s not for sure yet, but.” “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Zoe’s eyes shifted. “Yeah. Maybe I could find something else, but. Our rent went up, too. You just. This city—you give so much and you get so little. I might go back home to Eugene. I don’t know.”