“Your new story: You weren’t as good at math or science as your brothers, but you were good at talking to people and making friends. You won awards for volunteering and for your essays in history class.” The words came easily. “You got into Princeton not because of your brothers, but because you were interesting—you had a drive for storytelling and uniting people, and you could join the volleyball team to boot. Your parents were confused when they found out about your change in major, but it made sense to them since you were always asking for stories. They were reluctant to show it, then they became interested in these stories and new histories you’re uncovering and archiving, and it helped them learn more about themselves too.”

She did not say anything for a while. By then, it was too dark to make out her expression, so I stared at the river. The wind of the late October evening was picking up, but I wasn’t cold, not next to her.

“You’re good at this,” she said eventually, a softness to her voice that wasn’t there before. “Thank you. Now let me try you. Tell me your story.”

I struggled to start. She had rattled hers off so easily. But it was not so different from writing a journal entry.

“My mom left before I can remember, and no one has ever told me exactly why,” I began. “I think she didn’t get along with my grandparents. I do remember my dad leaving. He and my grandfather fought terribly. So it was just me and my grandparents. I guess I did wonder if my parents didn’t care enough about me to even visit. It’s not like they’re dead, they’re just living their lives elsewhere. But I didn’t wonder that much. My grandparents were always more than enough.

“I worked hard in school, but I didn’t have many friends. I always felt like I should be helping my grandparents, since they’re getting old and sometimes their English falters. I studied computer science because that seemed like the quickest way to make money without a graduate degree. I wanted to make sure they wouldn’t have any financial problems. Now my grandmother is losing her memory, so I’m trying to spend more time with her, to help my grandfather, but also to understand her better, before it’s too late. I’ve spent my whole life with them and yet I barely know anything about them. And part of me is scared to ask.”

She placed her hand on mine and squeezed.