“Look, when you’re my age, there’s nothing to look forward to anymore, so you spend all your time looking back. Memories that feel good and ones that don’t. You know how much time lately I’ve spent wishing I could change the past? All of it. All my time sitting in bed is thinking about missed opportunities. But that’s all we have—all our missed opportunities to look back on. Why don’t you think about that?”

I was worried she was angry with me, so I stared down at my drink.

“I’ve noticed something about you. You have an eye-contact problem,” she said.

“I look at people.”

“I think I read somewhere that being bad at eye contact means you’re dishonest.”

“I don’t think I’m dishonest. I’m just scared.”

“People want someone to pay attention to them and what they’re saying.”

“Looking someone in the eye for too long feels like the start of an anxiety attack.”

She leaned back and stared at me.

“No one actually wants to hurt you, Evelyn.”

I could let out a sob, or I could gulp down my drink to stifle it. I chose the latter and looked away. She wasn’t asking me for a staring contest—or, at least, I didn’t want to give her one.

She took a long sip of her drink.

“My doctor told me my lungs are weeping. Isn’t that a beautiful way of putting it? But they’re weeping so much that I’m drowning.”

It was her turn to look away.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said.

She slid across the booth and flipped her legs out to get up. She got up quickly and took a step and fell before I could stop her.

“Daphne!”

I pushed myself out of the booth and crouched next to her. Some of the men craned their necks to see what was happening.

She was already trying to get up.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“My foot fell asleep, I think. Or it got caught. I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t feel it anymore.”

I helped her up and put her back in the booth.

“Do you need your oxygen?”

“No. Just stay with me.”

The bartender came over to see what was happening. She asked us if we needed ice. She went back behind the bar, annoyed, and shoveled ice into a bag.

“She doesn’t have to,” Daphne said.

I could see her ankle was already swelling.

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to walk like that.”

“It just fell asleep.”

“Does it hurt?”

She tried to get up from the booth and had a hard time balancing, so I helped her back down.

“Yes,” she said.