The buildings got fuzzy when you got close to them, and they kept changing places. But the building where James worked was solid. The staircase smelled like wood polish. The door to his office was open. He was delighted. “This is it,” he said. “This is mine.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Anna said. There were papers on his desk with actual writing. There were framed photos with real people in them.

James sat in his desk chair and spun around. Anna leaned against his desk. “You’re happy here,” she said.

“Because it’s mine.”

“No—you’re happy here. Canonically. You like your job.” “Oh.” He looked thoughtful. “I think you’re right. That’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“I want to show you the vending machines,” he said. “The break room has the best vending machines.”

She followed him to the break room—the only other door that would open—and he bought her an ice cream bar.

“Are you happy in your house?” he asked, biting into one of those pre-wrapped cones.

“I am,” she said, “but I don’t think I’m meant to be.”

“Explain.”

“I think I’m meant to feel comfort there, but also fear.”

“Fear of what?”

“I don’t know,” Anna said, “and that’s why it’s sort of faded. I don’t think she’s ever thought that part through. The threat.”

“So you’ve just decided not to be afraid of it?”

“I guess so.”

“That’s extraordinary, Anna. I can’t even imagine not feeling what I’m meant to feel.”

“That’s because you’re new,” she said. “You’re still infused with purpose. And you don’t have contradictory experiences.”

“I must seem like a baby to you.”

“You seem mint in box,” she said. “Internally consistent.”

That made him smile.

They wandered around campus for a while, but the farther they got from James’s office, the more faded everything was.

Eventually he asked if they could go back to her porch swing.

“You don’t want to look for your house?” she asked.

“I don’t think I’m meant to feel happy in my house,” he said.

“What do you remember feeling there?”

He thought for a moment. “Lonely.”

“Fuck that,” she said. “You can wait at my house.”

They spent another evening on the porch swing. Anna kept expecting him to disappear. She didn’t know what was taking so long—he was so ready.

She’d met people over the years who started to disappear as soon as you said hello. People who flashed before your eyes. That’s one reason Anna liked to sit in the park. To see who showed up. To see how long they stayed.

It used to make her bitter. She used to sit there hating them. Hating her.

But now . . . Anna was just curious.