“We won’t take all your time,” Marlie said.

“No, take as much as you need,” Ayanna said. “And if you want, I can put in earbuds, so you can talk privately.”

They spent most of the time just looking at each other. Marlie sometimes told Valerie things about her life. Valerie spoke a little about what might be next, how despite everything, it was beautiful. But mostly, they smiled and gazed into each other’s eyes, sometimes Marlie teared up, sometimes they laughed.

Ayanna tried to look away but couldn’t. She was seeing something important here, something worth learning.

Interstitial

Once, the spirit sang of two mountains that were kin. One silver, one gold. When they were born, they arose from the same womb of magma, heat, dirt. Time pulled them farther and farther apart. Their mother was all the soil and rock, a daughter of the spirit. She loved Silver and nurtured her as best she could. Gold was always out of her sight; of her body, but not of her heart.

The mother went to visit the spirit because her favorite daughter was falling apart slowly and surely from wind and rain. The spirit was building rivers and piecing together oceans. It worked slow while the mother spoke.

“And what of your other daughter?” the spirit asked when she was done.

When the soil and rock could not speak of Gold, the spirit sang that your love must not be like a net, letting some of your catch fall through. Your love must be as firm as a clasped fist. If you cannot love like this, you do not know love.

Part Three

23

It was a perfect summer Saturday. Felix was finally home after a trip to visit his parents. In the car, he kept doing an imitation of his dad complaining about Star Wars. We watched six Star Wars movies in six days, Ayanna, and he hated every single one. The bakery across the city had no line for once. They were obsessed with the silky quiche with firm peas in it, the biscuits with za’atar, and sludgy coffee. The waitress kept talking about how hot it was going to be, but in the Midwestern way where yes, it was small talk, but also an acknowledgment about how inside each of them was still a little February frost that needed melting.

“I can’t believe we’ve been doing this for thirteen years,” Felix said while they sat at the little round table.