Since I’d lied and said we had to go, I had to cut the kissing short to gather our things and escape the house. When I shut the passenger-side door of Shanti’s van, she asked, “So? Where to?”

I thought about it as the van slowly clunked to life. Good question. The last place I wanted to go was Shanti and Kat’s place, and I was pretty sure Shanti didn’t want to go there either.

“I don’t know. Someplace you can think of?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little worn out. From breakfast, yes, but also from lack of sleep and excessive emotional output.

She stared out the windshield for a few seconds, then smiled. “Yup.”

We were quiet, which was fine by me. I was somewhere between completely discomfited by this new dynamic between me and Shanti and strangely anticipatory about it—like I couldn’t wait to see what would happen but I was also terrified about what might happen. But not too terrified to stop me from going anywhere with her right now. This feeling of wanting to be around someone so much just led me back to being discomfited. And exhausted.

Fuck.

When she pulled up to what looked like a seniors’ home, though, I started to rethink my need to be anywhere she was.

“Uhhh…,” I began, staring out my window at the beige-and-brick building to my right.

“Don’t judge. This place is ‘capital R Rad,’ ” Shanti said, mimicking Vicki’s bubbly voice. “Come on.” She hopped out of the van. I let out a burst of air and followed.

When the man at the reception desk looked up, all the wrinkles in his face stretched out in recognition and pleasure. “Shanti, ma belle! Quelle surprise! Comment vas-tu?”

Shanti leaned over the counter and they did that two-cheek kiss thing that I’d never done in my life. This all felt very French and hence, very foreign to me.

“Très bien. Oumar, c’est Daya. Daya, Oumar.”

Apparently Shanti spoke French now? Pulling my questioning gaze (which she ignored) away from her, I reached out in a preemptive handshake—this guy looked like the type to two-cheek-kiss strangers even across a counter.

“A pleasure, mademoiselle, a pleasure.”

“Oumar, we’re here to get in on some Sunday Service.”

My neck swiveled so quickly toward her I felt a twinge. “Beg yer pardon?” I said, before I could keep it to myself.

She annoyingly just placed a hand on my arm and ignored me again.

“Ah, bien sûr! Come with me, mesdemoiselles!” We followed Oumar at a painstaking pace toward a hallway at one end of the foyer.

Shanti seemed perfectly at home here, and that made me slightly less anxious.

“You’ve come on an especially remarkable day, mes coeurs! Ça grouille de monde ici ce matin!” He poked the air in front of him with his cane and translated, “Hopping!”