John leaned back in his chair, turning to Vera. ‘So let me get this straight: There’s a difference between Manhattan hair and Brooklyn hair?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t know.’

I smiled to myself. ‘Let’s just say one normally involves a flat iron.’

‘Isn’t that the truth?’ Vera asked, laughing. ‘And you can pry mine from my cold, dead hands. We’re from the city, too, actually. Only we were never cool enough to live in Brooklyn. We were old fuddies, in the East Village.’ She beamed. ‘So why did you move? Do you have family up here?’

I shook my head, eyes on my plate.

‘Where are you from originally?’ she asked.

I took a sip of the wine John had opened as soon as we’d sat down. Despite my fears, there was no real reason to lie. ‘The Pacific Northwest, but I don’t get back there much.’

‘That’s where your family is?’ Vera pressed.

I swallowed, my throat tightening ever so slightly.

John laid his hand over Vera’s, as if to stop her.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Don’t be so pushy, V,’ he said, giving her hand a squeeze. His voice was kind, unlike Davis’s when he used to correct me. His eyes flitted to mine, crinkling at the corners; somehow, he got it.

Vera wriggled her hand out from beneath his. ‘I’m not being pushy,’ she said. Her fork clanged against the plate. ‘Wait. Am I?’

‘No, no, of course not,’ I said instinctively. I trailed my finger along the edge of my plate, then took a deep breath, like I had so many times before. Better to spit it out, one fell swoop. ‘There was a bad accident my junior year of college,’ I said. ‘I lost both my parents. I’m an only child, so …’

Her hand landed on mine, warm and baby-soft, but I flinched at her touch, and she pulled away. ‘Oh god, how awful,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you upset.’

For a second, the hole inside me where my parents should have been grew so much, it was like I was made of nothing, as empty as a tossed-aside bottle of wine: hard on the outside, tough to crack, but filled with little more than air, dirty dregs. I dabbed my eyes with my napkin, careful not to disturb the Dermablend, then forced a laugh. ‘Sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying.’

I expected to hear the usual half-hearted response – oh, so sorry for bringing it up, I didn’t mean to pry – but to my surprise, John’s eyes clouded. His face sagged, looked suddenly older. Vera bit her lip.

‘It doesn’t get any easier, does it?’ he asked, once more taking Vera’s hand.

I widened my eyes, willing him to go on.