She laughs. “Yes, that’s all you have to do. Can you pat these berries dry and slice them?” She hands me a colander full of rinsed strawberries.

I do as she asks, wondering if they have separate cutting boards for meat and produce like we do at home. Zoe mixes dressing in a jar — balsamic, salt, honey, a small spoonful of Dijon, and olive oil. She opens the jar and pokes a finger in to taste it. “Nailed it,” she says, holding out the jar to me.

I don’t know what to do.

“Taste it,” she says.

“With my finger?” The thought would appall my mother.

“Oh, do you want a spoon?” She starts to reach for the silverware drawer, but I interrupt her. I don’t want to accommodate the ways my mom has trained me. I don’t want to stay in my comfort zone.

“No, it’s okay.” I reach into the dressing with my forefinger and taste it, feeling like I’m breaking the law. “It’s perfect,” I say. “You didn’t even measure.”

She tosses her hair, unleashing a dizzying, invisible field of flowers. “Not my first rodeo.”

It’s all I can do not to gaze at her like a love-struck space clown.

When the salad is ready to toss and her mom’s lasagna is in the oven, we go upstairs to Zoe’s room. She sits in her window seat, pulling a large stuffed rabbit into her lap to make room for me. She pats a spot next to her on the inviting cushion. The green of the pine trees outside her window does her hair and complexion every favor somehow, but I don’t think there’s a color on earth that could mute her beauty.

My messenger bag sits on her floor, and a nervous thrill runs through me at the thought of what’s inside. I keep thinking about the gift and wondering when to give it to her. I hope she loves it.

She pulls her legs up and sits cross-legged, facing me, and I pull up my legs and mirror her.

“I wonder how long it will take before my data comes in,” she says, clutching the rabbit to herself. “Every time I think of it, my stomach does cartwheels. Just the idea of knowing my ethnic background is so exciting — and that’s only the beginning, right? I could sign up to find DNA matches. I might find actual relatives!”