Out the back door of the ice cream parlor, there’s a bit of a cliff overlooking what Dawn tells me is Santa Monica beach. We’re sitting on top of one of four wooden tables with wooden benches, looking out at the view. Wind tousles Dawn’s hair as we arrange ourselves next to each other with our feet resting on the bench.

Dawn does a maintenance lick of her ice cream, shaping it along the bottom so nothing falls off. She closes her eyes and savors it for a moment. “Exquisite.”

She most definitely has pretentious taste in ice cream, and I am all for it.

“Are you going to try yours?” she asks, brows raising expectantly.

I lean forward and take a chunk off the top, mulling it over as I chew. A smile breaks across my face as I bite down on something crunchy.

“That’ll be the cricket.” Dawn smirks.

I swallow. “Tastes like mint chocolate chip with some nuts thrown in.” I give the cone another lick for good measure. “It’s actually pretty good.”

Dawn lifts her shoulder with a smug grin and slips out her iPhone. “We have to take some pictures, or else our subjects are going to lose their shape.”

“Do you want me to take some of you and your ice cream?” I ask.

“No, I want to take some of both of us with our ice cream, and get the logo on the back of the building in it with us.” She grins. “Come lean in.”

I scoot closer and tilt my head toward hers. She positions the ice cream up toward her face. When she raises the phone, a small gasp wisps out of me. I’m Jamie on the screen.

Dawn lowers the camera. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, embarrassed. “Sorry, I, um … saw Jamie in the viewfinder.”

I glance down at Jamie’s yellow shoes. “It was just jarring. I’ve been seeing her in every reflective surface since I got here, but I haven’t taken any pictures … It was particularly weird this time because I forgot in this moment that … I wasn’t completely me, and am currently, mostly, invisible.” I try to laugh, but the noise that comes out of me is depressing.

Dawn’s expression sobers significantly as she shifts her whole self to study me head-on. “That has to be so disorienting.” She puts down her phone and reaches out slowly. She runs her finger over my nose, my eyebrows, cheekbones, over the raised beauty mark above my lip. Chills race down my arms.

“You’re inescapably visible to me,” she says.

Her finger stops on my lip. She pushes down on it slightly and my body pulses in response.