“I was just going to get my jacket,” John said, trying to sound casual in the midst of an obvious lie. He looked her up and down, and she didn’t move, like she knew what he was doing, and why. It’s not her. She looked like some stunning cousin of Charlie’s, maybe, but not her. Not the round-faced, frizzy-haired, awkward girl he had known almost all his life. She was taller, thinner, her hair longer, darker. Her face was uncannily different, though he could not have explained how. Her posture, even as she stood hugging herself in anxiety, was somehow elegant. As he looked at her, the first shock of recognition gave way to an acute revulsion; he took an involuntary step back. How can anyone think that’s her? he thought. How can anyone think that’s my Charlie?

She bit her lip. “John, say something,” she said, pleading in her voice. He shrugged, holding both hands up in resignation.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

She nodded. She uncrossed her arms as if she had just realized she was holding them that way, and began to pick at her nails instead. “I’m so happy to see you,” she said, sounding like she was about to cry. John softened, but tamped the feeling down.

“Me too,” he said in a monotone.

“I missed you,” she began, searching his face for something. John had no idea what he might look like, but he felt like stone. “I, uh, I had to get away for a while,” she went on uncertainly. “That night, John, I thought I was going to die.”

“I thought you did,” he said, trying to swallow the lump rising in his throat.

She hesitated.

“You don’t think I’m me?” she asked softly at last.

He looked down at his feet for a moment, unable to say the words to her face.

“Jessica told me. It’s okay, John,” she said. “I just want you to know that it’s okay.” Her eyes were bright with tears. His heart lurched, and in an instant, the world came into a different focus.

He gazed at the woman huddled in front of him trying to suppress her sobs. The stark differences he saw in her were suddenly things that seemed so easily explained. Her shoes had heels, so she was taller. She was wearing a form-fitting dress, instead of her usual jeans and T-shirt, so she appeared thinner. She was wearing elegant clothing, and her gestures were confident, sophisticated, but it was all no more than if Jessica had given her the makeover she was always threatening. No more than if Charlie had just grown up.

We’ve all had to grow up.