“How long had she been there?” I ask.

He knows exactly who I’m talking about. The nine-year-old. He hangs his head, shaking it. I can’t see his face, but I know that he is crying. “Three months. It was horrible, Lynne. There was nothing we could do. Nothing I could say to her. And she was such a trooper. Strong, courageous, engaging. She tried to fight it with all she had. You should’ve seen her.”

“Dom.” I’m surprised by how deeply sad I feel for him, for her. Both of them are practically strangers to me. “I’m so sorry. Please eat. Tell me everything, but eat too.”

Dom takes a tentative bite of a french fry, just to appease me. His dim eyes zing when the salty fried potato hits his taste buds. He grabs two more and shoves them into his mouth. I think he is starting to succumb to his hunger, which is a good thing. It would make me very unhappy to know Dom, like me, is used to forgetting to eat. Though I cannot imagine it to be the case, based on how buff and healthy he looks.

“Was it . . . did she . . . ?” I don’t know how to ask the question. Thankfully, Dom knows exactly what I’m trying to say. He takes a pull of the milkshake before passing it to me. I put the straw in my mouth and suck, like it’s normal. Like sharing drinks, saliva, and secrets with beautiful men is something I do on a regular basis.

“No. She couldn’t really feel anything. She was in a medically induced coma. Her systems started shutting down in the afternoon, one after the other. It was the worst shift I’ve ever had. It was like watching a church being burned down, section by section. The fire consuming everything—the Bibles, the pews, Jesus on a cross.”

I close my eyes, picturing it. A chill runs down my spine. You don’t have to be religious to want to throw up.

Leaning back against the hood of my car, Dom grabs his burger and takes an enormous bite. I rub at his arm, knowing words are meaningless right now.

He rips another piece of his burger with his teeth. His jaw ticks sharply each time he takes a bite. “And all I was thinking as I watched her losing the battle to this disease was that . . . there’s so much bullshit in the world, you know? Right now, at this very moment, there’s a tabloid columnist writing a nasty piece about a pop star just because they can. Because it’s cool to hate on celebrities. A politician plotting to ruin a colleague standing in their way to the presidency. A girl crying into her pillow because she cannot afford a fucking Gucci bag. When all the while, people are losing their lives and would happily sign on for a Gucci-less existence. I know there’s this whole thing about not minimizing people’s problems, but fuck it, I feel like some things should be minimized, you know? Yeah, being an Afghan refugee trying to escape a horrible fate is a bigger problem than not getting asked by your crush to prom, and I’m tired of pretending all troubles were born equal when obviously that’s not the goddamn truth!”