Mentioning my brother has me curious about something, so I figure I’ll ask Andrew. “I was talking to my brother last week and he mentioned that he’s been seeing someone for a while. Have you met her?”

“Zahra?”

I nod.

“Yes, a few times.” There must be some kind of reaction on my face because he says, “You haven’t met her?” His brows furrow.

I shake my head. “I didn’t even know Finn was dating someone special until he called to invite me to Thanksgiving dinner.”

He studies me for a moment as though he’s waiting for me to say something more. When I don’t, an anxious expression flits across his face, but it’s gone in an instant.

“What’s she like?”

He contemplates his answer for a moment. “She’s lovely. Smart, pretty. She seems to make your brother happy, from everything I’ve witnessed.”

I nod, happy to know my brother has found someone. We sit in silence for a few minutes—or as silent as a New York City subway train can be on a Friday night—before he shifts to face me better.

“Is there a reason you didn’t know about Zahra until recently? I thought you and Finn were close?” His voice is filled with compassion as though he worries the words might be painful for me to hear.

Which in a way is true, but probably not for the reasons Andrew thinks.

“Finn and I… well, it’s complicated. We’re not that close. Not for any reason in particular. It’s probably a lot of things. The differences in our ages, our interests… in how we grew up.”

Andrew tilts his head as though encouraging me to go on, but I want to move on from this subject. It will burst the bubble of holiday joy the Rockettes cocooned me in.

When I don’t go on any further, he takes the hint and says, “Well, he always talks fondly of you. He’s very proud of you for making your own way here.”

I give him a sad sort of smile. The announcement for my stop comes on and we stand and walk over to the doors.

Once we’re on the street level again, I shift to the inside of the sidewalk, knowing he’s going to force me there anyway.

“Ah, you’re learning.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I’m a quick study.”

“The practice came about because way back, people would throw their waste from the chamber pot straight out the window. This way, men were much more likely to be covered in shit than the woman.”

I stop walking and stare at him for a moment. He stops and turns to face me.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Swear to God.” He chuckles.