“Yes.” Marissa looked pleased as she surveyed the colorful additions to her ace bandage. “They had a doctor retie the bandage for me, then said he was too butch for the finishing touches. So they had a little contest to pick the biggest Sissy Mary and the winner selected the lavender and orange ribbons to match my Pretty Boy Pink—they said that alone made me an honorary queen—toenail polish. I was so glad I’d gotten my first-time-ever pedicure yesterday.”

Linda was grinning as she went back to the stove and poured the egg and green pepper mixture into the hot pan. “Philip sounds like he has some very fun friends.”

“He does. It was one of the reasons my dad loved him. He’d spent so much time closeted that Philip’s extreme outness never lost its charm. That smells good.”

“Thanks—I hope it tastes good.” She prowled a few drawers and discovered dried herbs and spices. Basil, salt and pepper would do nicely. “I remember you like a bit of spice in things. Do you have Tabasco?”

“In the fridge. I wish I could help.”

“No, you sit and put your foot up.”

“I’m trying not to love you again.”

Linda lost her grip on the spatula for a moment then went back to moving the eggs around on the heat. “Is it difficult?”

“Yes,” Marissa said in a small voice. “It’s very hard.”

“Good.” If her heart could sing, Linda thought it would be belting out “Top of the World.” Fighting back a smile, she dished the eggs onto plates, quickly cut the baguette and brought the container of already cleaned fruit to the table with her. “I’m willing to start over, Marissa. I’m willing to let it take time. You, sure of what you feel, are worth waiting for.”

Marissa ate a bite of eggs. “Thank you—a hot breakfast is quite a treat.”

“You’re welcome. For me too.”

“Are . . .” Marissa focused on her plate. “Are your feelings certain?”

“Do you mean are you still the most fascinating, interesting, touchable, sexy woman I’ve ever met? Yes, you are.”

The blush that stained Marissa’s neck was attractive in the extreme. “You don’t really know me.”

“Then let me be around. Let me make you dinner sometime.”

“Okay. Slow. I like slow.”

Linda could not help herself. “Yes, I remember.”

Marissa looked as if she wanted to fling a forkful of eggs at Linda. “None of that. Not right away.”

“Okay.”

They ate in silence for a while then Marissa brought up the weather. Weather turned to places Linda might want to rent if the job came through. Discussion of mass transit maps led to theories of city planning and by the time the last wedge of pineapple was eaten they had covered the film career of Gene Wilder, highlighted perplexities of the English language, agreed on global warming and solved many of the world’s problems.

Linda was aware that part of her watched their conversation but it wasn’t with the detachment of dissociation with which she was so familiar. This was simple wonder that a conversation with Marissa could bring her more laughter and thoughtfulness than any in her life. Being near Marissa made her realize that in many ways, she had not yet begun living.