Steph was out on the sidewalk, gazing down the street. She began to run, and I went after her. She stopped at the end of the block, where she stared at an empty parking space on the street.

“She took the car,” Steph said flatly. “Fuck.”

—

Mel gave Steph the keys to her Jeep. “I’m staying,” she said. “You can borrow it. I hope Lisa’s okay.”

I said goodbye to Mel because there was no way for me to get back to San Rafael and my car if I didn’t leave with Steph. I thought being alone with her on the drive would lead to something more—at least an acknowledgment of what had happened between us—but she was grim as we headed out of the city. She told me she and Lisa had fought, and Lisa had gone home angry, and then she didn’t say anything else.

I couldn’t make sense of it. She had kissed me, but now she wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I felt like she had punched me in the stomach, and an ache began to build there, a combination of frustrated desire and bewilderment. The longer we were silent, the harder it was to break it, and I ended up saying nothing the whole way to Mel’s house.

She pulled up behind the Honda and left the engine running. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t say it,” I muttered. I got out and slammed the door shut before she could respond. My eyes burned as I walked to the car. As soon as I was in, Steph drove off. I sat there alone in the dark, tears spilling out of my eyes.

—

When I got back to Woodacre, the house was dark, but the motion-sensor outdoor lights snapped on as I opened the gate. The ferns on the side of the path were washed in whiteness, all their color leached away.

I opened the front door, and Analemma came down the stairs to nose at me. I petted her half-heartedly and went upstairs. She followed as I went to my room and dropped my purse on the dresser and took off my boots. The world seemed to wobble, and I realized I was hungry.

Analemma followed me into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and saw the brown paper bag from lunch with my mother. There were still a couple of steamed buns left. Moving automatically, I took one out and wrapped it in a damp paper towel to microwave it. When it was ready, I sat down at the kitchen table and pulled apart the steaming white bun, revealing the glistening red barbecued pork inside. Analemma put her head on my thigh hopefully. There was something about the mournful look in her golden-brown eyes that startled a laugh out of me.

“You are shameless,” I whispered, and pulled out a piece of pork and fed it to her.