I dabbed at my face with the napkin. I’d had girlfriends back in high school. Girls on the spirit squad who invited me over to their houses after class to watch their older brothers’ friends flex muscles. I was on passing acquaintance with our school’s homecoming court, most of whom married those same muscle flexers. They sent me Christmas cards, with pictures of their fat naked babies tucked inside. I didn’t even throw away the pictures. I guess you could say we were close.

But it had been a while since I’d been really seen by another person, and even longer since I’d felt anything like sisterhood. I opened my mouth to thank her and the whole sordid story tumbled out. A waitress came to take our order, but Lou waved her away, her eyes never wavering from my face. Around the time I was telling her about the way HR had called for security guards to escort me out, salt in the wound, she grabbed a cigarette from her purse and offered it to me with raised eyebrows.

“No thanks,” I said, trying to catch my breath as the full spread of my misery unfurled before me.

Lou lit the cigarette. “By the way,” she said, “I didn’t get your name.”

And it was so ridiculous, so sad, that I lost it—laughing, whooping, donkey-braying laughs, until I snorted the tears trailing down my cheeks back up my nose. Lou sucked on her cigarette and watched me across the table, that big dopey smile on her face.

“It’s A—” I said.

Lou nodded. “You can think about that and tell me again later if you want.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, but then the waitress was back. I ordered a slice of cherry pie, à la mode, even though I didn’t like vanilla ice cream. Lou ordered two slices of apple cheddar—“one to go if I don’t finish them both”—and eyed me some more.

“That’s a sad story,” she said finally. “I’m sorry to hear it. What an asshole. But they’re never the ones who pay, right?” She shook her head. “Asshole.”

“Yeah,” I said, uncomfortable now that my volcanic spill was done and cooling between us. The waitress clunked three dishes down, and we sat and chewed our pie in silence. The whole time I was wishing I’d kept my big fat mouth shut and that I could leave, leave now, before I started crying again, but I’d driven her here and somehow, even in my embarrassment, the idea of going back to my car and the radio and no one else . . .

So I stayed.