At the Fairfax Grille, we were seated at a table tucked in the back corner of the busy dining room. As I looked at the menu, I realized I’d been here before with my grandparents. There were a bunch of burgers named for places in California: the San Francisco (blue cheese and caramelized onions), the Marin (avocado and microgreens), the San Rafael (pepper jack and salsa), and the Fairfax (a black bean and brown rice veggie burger).

“Where’s the server?” Lisa asked. “I’m going to the bar. Can you order me a medium cheddar burger when they get here?”

“Sure,” Steph said.

“Will you get me a beer?” Mel asked.

“I’m not the server,” Lisa said. “Come get your own.”

Mel grumbled but got up to follow her. She glanced at me and Steph and asked, “You two want anything from the bar?”

Steph shook her head. “I’m driving.”

“No thanks,” I said. I wasn’t sure if Mel knew how old I was. I wondered whether I should tell her, but that seemed so childish, like a three-year-old announcing their age.

“Will you get me the San Francisco burger?” Mel said over her shoulder.

“Yep,” Steph said. Then she looked at me. “So what did you think of the open mic?”

“I liked it,” I said. “I’ve never been to one before, so I didn’t know what to expect, but it was really great. I liked your song. You wrote it, right?”

She smiled at me, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. “Yeah, I wrote it.”

“Was it autobiographical?” I immediately wanted to take it back—Dad was always irritated when people asked him if his books were autobiographical.

Steph laughed shortly, as if she’d gotten that question before.

“Sorry, I—”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. Maybe some of it. But by the time I’ve really worked on a song, whatever’s true to my own life is mostly gone. The song isn’t about me, even if it started out that way. Besides, I think it would be hard to perform them in public if they were really about me. It would feel too confessional. But I also feel like all songs should feel a little autobiographical, except not only for the singer—for the listener, too. They should connect with it on a personal level, as if it happened to them.” She suddenly looked self-conscious. “Sorry, I get a little intense when I talk about this stuff.”

“No, I love hearing about it,” I said.

Steph seemed pleased. “I want to write songs that feel universal, you know? Specific, but universal. That’s why there’s no gender in the lyrics.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize that.”

“A lot of songs are like that. They apply to everyone. You know, love is love.”