“It does.” My voice shook, taking me by surprise. “I’m scared because I know they won’t live all that much longer. And with grandmother it will be even sooner. Even if she is alive, it won’t be long before she can’t remember. Today was a really good day for her. But most days . . . Soon she might not even remember me. I guess I should be grateful for what they have already given me. I know they’re older than many people live to be.”

When she did not say anything, I glanced over at her. I could just make out her smile.

“What?” I asked, replaying what I had said.

“You accepted your reframed story. That’s a huge step.”

“Is that what happened?”

“Totally!” She threw her hands in the air. “But I was tricky about it. I reframed your story and then asked you a question that you could only answer if you had accepted the story as yours. Clever, right?”

I hid my smile in my knees.

“Yes, very clever. But I’m not convinced that believing in my story is going to change how I go about things.”

“I can send you the research papers. Or rather, let me give you an example.” The energy in her voice was palpable. “I used to be really mediocre at volleyball, or at least that’s what I thought. But then one day, before a big game, I overheard one of the older girls talking about the team. She said, ‘The underclassmen are either athletic and lazy, or diligent and not athletic. Except Louise. She is both athletic and diligent—we’ll need to keep an eye on her.’ And I’m telling you the truth—before that point, I really did not think I was good at any part of volleyball except showing up to every practice. Once I realized somebody was seeing my story in that way, the confidence boost was incredible. We won every game that season.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “But I don’t think that has happened to me before.”

“Just wait.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I’m afraid of what I might learn about my grandmother,” I admitted. “That’s why I haven’t tried to learn to Reforge. Whether I learn about it through pencils or EMBRS or you asking for her story—I’m afraid.”

“That’s not unusual,” she said gently. “But perhaps another question you can ask yourself is, will you regret not learning about her?”

I didn’t know the answer to that. At one point, even a few months ago, I would have responded yes, of course. But for the first time, I was questioning the need to know everything. Questioning even EMBRS and its need for data, questioning Prof. Logan’s radical sharing philosophy. Not everything needed to be shared, did it? Or was it merely blissful ignorance I chased?