“Uh, I’m not . . .”

“It’s a party,” Mel said. “In Dolores Park in San Francisco. It’s free. All our friends will be there.”

“Mel,” Steph said, “she doesn’t know our friends.” Steph gave me a look like, You don’t have to come.

“You’re right,” Mel said, and then she turned to me. “Let me tell you about our friends. There’s Roxy, my ex, and probably the rest of the band will be there, too. The band is called Madchen. They’re all great. And Joey, Lisa’s best friend, who’s a real sweetie. A thousand—no, ten thousand—queer women, all of them gorgeous, hanging out at the park all afternoon. Then we march through the streets of San Francisco from the Mission to the Castro, for Pink Saturday. It’s a street party, like tonight on Lisa’s phone, but bigger. But no pressure—you can think about it and just let me know if you want to go. I’ll text you.”

It was nice to have someone be clearly interested in my company. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

Finally the burgers came. As I picked mine up, warm juice oozed down the side of my hand, and the avocado was cool and creamy against the grilled edges of the beef. I remembered I had ordered the same burger as Steph, and when I looked across the table at her, she raised hers in a silent toast.

Hazel, I thought. The color of her eyes is hazel.

Chapter 7

“Be careful,” Joan called. “I don’t remember the last time I went back there.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, and pulled the dangling string to turn on the overhead bulb.

A harsh white light washed over the back basement. The hill sloped inside the house here, held back by a knee-high brick wall. Cardboard boxes were lined up on top of the wall, and behind the boxes lay a musty darkness I wasn’t eager to explore. Overhead, insulation erupted from plastic sheeting in dirty pink clumps. The room smelled of dirt and disintegrating cardboard and something disturbingly organic. I hoped to find what I was looking for quickly.

Joan was behind me in the storage room, which opened into the civilized part of the basement, including the laundry room and an old darkroom. She was currently searching through boxes looking for the last of Grandpa’s files from his time at the University of Colorado. She had asked me to help look in the back basement.