“Well, I checked on the map how far it was from your place, and it’s far. You must have calves of steel. Really, it was very easy for me. Though I did have to get my brother to drive me,” she added sheepishly.

I could only see grandmother’s forehead over the pyramid of roast beef sandwiches. She took the top one, patting the foil in satisfaction. Then she looked around the table, first at me, then grandfather, then Louise.

“Hannah?”

I opened my mouth to say something, to apologize. Grandfather spoke first.

“Like Hannah was ever so nice. This is Monica’s friend Louise. Remember?”

“Oh. Of course.” Grandmother smiled, but I could tell she did not remember.

“I’ll clean up,” I said.

“Time for us to watch television, then,” grandfather said cheerily. Grandmother followed him, steps hesitant, still unsure.

“My mother’s name,” I explained once they left. Louise helped me gather the sandwiches to bring to the refrigerator.

“I thought that might be it. Do I look like her?”

“I don’t think so.” I handed her a container for the leftovers. “I haven’t seen her in a very long time though. The last time grandmother saw her was probably at that table, maybe where you were sitting. And she wasn’t much older than you are.”

“Can I ask where she is now?”

“I think in Kansas. We don’t talk. But I guess grandmother still remembers her. I think they had a falling-out.”

“Ah.”

That she did not ask more pleased me. As I loaded the dishwasher, I wondered if it was because we had dodged so many of each other’s questions in the past, or if it was our shared heritage, both from families of immigrants, families used to holding their shames close so to fit in.

After cleaning, I showed her around the guest bedroom. It was a sterile space, devoid of any character my father might have given it. Most of his belongings had been shipped to Shanghai or donated. I had cleaned it recently, washing the sheets, vacuuming, even swapping HVAC filters.

She fell onto the bed, spreading her arms. I asked if she wanted to rest. She shot back up and insisted we go do something. I was delighted, as I had a whole list of things planned out. I had been thinking a lot about her thesis proposal and digital archiving, thought she’d probably love the Cambridge Public Library, or we could cross the river into Boston and check out one of the many museums there. As I pieced together my plan, though, I realized there was only one place that felt right.

I said we would bike there.

“Of course you want to bike,” she said as she followed me outside.

I paid for her bike share rental on my app before she even finished reading the instructions on how the system worked. That was the best part—her face when she realized.