Dorsey did not answer. Something about seeing Liza again jarred him. He had fully expected that her Instagram would be the only means of ever engaging with her. Yes, he was very well acquainted with certain pictures on her Instagram feed. But just like that, she popped up at his DC office, red-nosed, shivering, a halo of snow on the crown of her head—and gorgeous. Jennifer—Dear god, is she still here?—continued.

“I bet it was the first time anyone’s ever rejected her,” Jennifer said lightly. The cafeteria was gray and austere, and Dorsey remembered why he rarely came down here. It was downright depressing.

“I’m sorry . . .” Dorsey was having so much trouble following the strand of Jennifer’s conversation. “What are we talking about?”

“Liza,” she muttered, but when Dorsey broke eye contact again, she huffed. “Oh, never mind.”

“Liza, yes, she looks different today. Maybe it’s the hair, or I think the cold brought out a little sparkle in her eyes. She obviously cares for her sister. It’s actually quite—”

“Oh,” Jennifer interrupted. Her voice had taken on a high-pitched tenor that made Dorsey wince. “Here’s the food.” She jerked open the glass door holding various refrigerated items. Jennifer scooped up a few Caesar chicken wraps in cellophane while Dorsey grabbed cookies and bottled water. “And the baskets are here! See, I told you I knew where they were.”

“Her birthday,” he mumbled, flicking through the icebreaker texts his baby sister sent him from time to time. “That’s lame.” He shook his head. There had to be something he could say to get her bright eyes on him again.

They made their way back to the elevator. Jennifer punched the up arrow impatiently.

Liza bounced on a balance ball office chair in a man named Kenyon’s cubicle. Was this what her sister wanted—to be seated across from Ken in accounts receivable in a gray box all her life? What made people run toward these awful choices?

As the hours passed, Liza had taken to secretly watering down her sister’s drinks. In fact, she was pouring water in a half-filled champagne glass in the office break room when Dorsey, materializing from what must have been thin air, opened the refrigerator next to her.