Maybe the middle part isn’t any better than the end.

The middle feels better.

Right. Well. I was thinking all that . . . And then my period didn’t start, but I had cramps anyway—and I thought, “A rotten piece of fruit is obviously worse than a seed.”

You had cramps anyway?

Yeah. I’ll probably have cramps ’til I die.

You know, Lincoln is getting older, too.

Yeah, but men don’t radically change. They don’t go off. Like a dairy product. They just weather.

That cute guy just walked outside. What is my life.

Is he being creepy?

I don’t think so. I’m trying not to look at him.

Beth was sitting on the curb, texting someone. Probably one of her sisters or Jennifer.

She was wearing a sweater he liked. And jeans he liked. When she sat like that, her sweater inched up, and he could see the small of her back. If he got a little closer, there’d be freckles.

She stood up as he was walking toward her. (He’d have to go looking for the freckles later.)

He touched her arm, and she jumped.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you saw me.”

Beth looked startled, wary.

“Beth?”

Her eyes got wide. “Lincoln.”

“Sweetie”—he touched her arm again—“are you okay?”

Beth still looked startled. She grabbed onto his new sweater and buried her face in his chest. “Lincoln.”

“Hey.” He put his arms around her. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t . . .” Her words got lost in his chest.

“You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t recognize you.”

“You didn’t recognize me?” He tried to push her away, but she stayed buried.

“Your hair,” she said. “And the mask.”

“Hey . . .” Lincoln said. He pushed her shoulder away from him, then reached up and pulled down his mask. “Is that better?”

She looked up at him. Her face and neck were bright red. She nodded. “There you are.”

He touched her chin. “Twenty years isn’t long enough for me to make an impression, huh?”

She tried to hide her face. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He laughed. “It’s okay. Hey—” He caught her chin. “Don’t hide—it’s okay. I wondered why you didn’t acknowledge me. I thought you were having some heated text argument.”

She laughed, too—finally. “I thought you were some young, cute guy flirting with me!”

“Now you’re just covering.”

Beth was looking up at him. Her glasses were hanging from her neckline. She couldn’t read with them on, and she wouldn’t get bifocals. He kissed her forehead.

“I’m not covering,” she said. “I did. Ask Jennifer.”

“Jennifer will lie for you.”

Beth laughed, more and more like herself. “I’ll show you.” She was still holding her phone. She woke it up and showed him the screen.

“That cute guy just walked outside,” she’d texted. “What is my life.”