He grins. “It’s actually pretty funny, messing with people’s heads. Like, I tell them I meditate and then they feel all weird because they don’t want to stereotype me as an Asian, so then I get this whole spectrum of awkward questions and I’m, like, dude, I learned how to meditate from a Mexican across the street from MIT.” He shakes his head. “When I told my parents I started meditating, they were kind of horrified. It was pretty adorable, actually. They’re Christian. As if it weren’t bad enough that I’m a scientist.”

“What kind of Christian?” I ask.

Gram is Catholic, but she believes in evolution—because she’s a rational human being—and she advises Nate on which celebrity men she would prefer as grandsons-in-law, because she understands that he was born the way he is and that there is nothing wrong with him. Simple biology. Science and faith, as Dad said, do not have to be mortal enemies. But sometimes they are.

He frowns. “They protest at abortion clinics.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. Meditation helps with … that.” He rolls his eyes. “My ancestors were Shinto. I think I’m the only Buddhist in my family’s history on either side. Isn’t it funny? I’m third-generation, but still. My grandparents immigrate to America, and I wind up on the cushion.”

“That must be really great, though,” I say. “Knowing about your family’s history. Where you came from.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I’m adopted, so…”

“You don’t know anything?”

“I could take a DNA test, of course, but I don’t want my birth family to track me down. Once you take the test, that information is out there, even if you check the privacy box. Who knows if it’s actually secure? This girl I know found her birth mother that way, and I … don’t want that. Maybe I’ll do it someday, but right now, I’m not sure what the benefit of knowing my ethnic makeup would be. It wouldn’t change anything. Or mean anything. The stories and culture I grew up with, that’s what feels real to me. My mom—my mom mom—is, was, Greek American. My yia-yia and pappoús immigrated to America after World War Two on this creaky ship. Went through Ellis Island. My dad’s family came on the Mayflower, if you can believe it.”

“Boston’s so weird.”

“Right?”

“So are you into Greek culture and stuff?”

“Yes. I love it. It’s strange, though. Ever since my parents died, all of this has been—it’s been bothering me.”

Ben leans his elbows on the counter, and, I must admit, I like this decreased radius of separation.

“How so?” he asks.