“Don’t work so hard, Sis. You deserve happiness as much as the next person. Just remember that.”

When the food arrived, Nelson tore into it as if he hadn’t seen a hot meal in days. It brought out his talkative streak, and he spoke through mouthfuls of food about a connection he had in Mexico, some guy who was building a solar-powered school. He was going down to work with the guy for a few months, then see what else came up. It seemed he had become something of an expert in ecologically sustainable construction, and was able to speak on the subject with casual authority. But not for long. He got distracted easily, jumping from one anecdote to another—studying with a shaman in Peru, building a film set for a Hollywood director in the Amazon rainforest, watching a crew member on a fishing trawler fall overboard into the treacherous Bering Sea. Mayling worked hard to keep track of all the people and places floating in and out of Nelson’s world, trying to make sense of the timeline. Was it Peru and Brazil, then Greenland? Or the other way around? At one point, she guiltily caught her attention wandering to something ambiguous her boss had said that morning, and at another point, to the man she’d met during a work trip in London and had been meaning to call. Eventually, Nelson threw down his chopsticks, emitted a long, satisfied belch, and slumped back in his seat.

“I think I overdid it,” he grinned, patting his stomach.

“Moron,” said Mayling, shaking her head at the amount of food still on the table.

They decided to box up the remainder of the roast duck and grab a drink before heading home. Mayling drove them to an Irish bar near her house in Ocean Beach. It was not her regular spot, but she’d chosen it to minimize the risk of bumping into someone they knew and having word somehow travel back to their parents. Mayling did a quick scan of the place, which was filling up with the happy hour crowd, before deciding it was safe for them to stay. She threw back two IPAs with a double shot of Knob Creek; Nelson followed suit.

By the second round, they had hit it off with a couple at the pool table, who invited them for a game. The Chans won easily, drank their winnings, and opened up the next game. Two loud, cheerful advertising executives stepped in. They proved to be decent players. Mayling valiantly held her game, but Nelson didn’t take his drink well and was getting sloppy. They took their defeat in good humor, and Mayling bought herself and the victors a round of drinks, while Nelson leaned into the bar with his head in his hands.

“Bad influence, you,” he groaned.

“Feather-ass lightweight, you,” said Mayling. “Let’s get you some air.”