“I think I’d be good in the back room, if I wasn’t unhireable,” Leslie said.

“Yeah, I’d be a lot of things if I was someone else, too,” Jake said.

“Being such a dummy must really limit your options,” Leslie said. “Where’s Allison?”

“Cookin’ stuff,” Clyde said.

Leslie found her in the kitchen stirring something in a large pot. The kitchen was well tended but not obnoxiously so. There were copper pans hanging over the stove and a conspicuous spice rack, but the space projected use and love, not just curatorial intention. Leslie didn’t cook much herself. If she’d spent the day drinking gin and reading about Mark Rothko, or, you know, Syria, how could she justify wasting another hour measuring out ingredients or whatever you were supposed to do? It took all of her energy to remember to eat the food in the house before it went bad, forget cooking it.

“It’s our underemployed baby!” Allison said. “And her big bottle of gin!”

Leslie went straight to the refrigerator.

“Christ, do you not have any tonic?” she said. She took out a bottle of grapefruit juice and poured liquor into two glasses.

“You’re not presenting as triumphant,” Allison said.

“The interview guy asked me if I wanted to change the world,” Leslie said. She tipped a splash of juice into both glasses. “I said, Um … for the better? There was this long pause, and finally he goes … Is there any other way?”

She gave Allison her gin and juice and took a big sip of her own. Allison grimaced.

“I wanted mine weeknight-strength,” she said.

The Grateful Dead played from the boom box on the counter. The Dead were one of many things Leslie tolerated only because she loved Allison. Others included tea, yoga, and feeling generally all right about life.

Jake and Clyde wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

“Is the food ready yet?” Clyde said. “I don’t know about you guys, but what I’m ready for? Is food.”

“You from around here, Jake?” Leslie said.

“Naw, I moved from Seattle with my girlfriend when she got into the forestry Ph.D.,” Jake said. “But we broke up last year.”

“Man, I’m sure you can do better than some, like, wood nymph, anyway,” Leslie said. “I wouldn’t sweat it.”

“Your East Coast ignorance is somehow getting worse,” Clyde said.

“I don’t care how long I stay here,” Leslie said. “I’m not going to be impressed by forests. Trees are cool. Necessary, even. But that’s as far as I’ll go.”

Jake didn’t smile. “It was a bad breakup, but I still have a lot of respect for what she’s trying to do,” he said.