“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you this excited before.”

“Oh. It’s interesting, I guess.”

“It is,” she agreed quickly. “But I would never have guessed my post would be scraped by a college student’s bot.”

“It’s in the terms of service.”

“Do you read those?”

“No, of course not.”

“Even you don’t read them!” she laughed.

“Do I seem like the type to?”

“I think out of everyone I know, you would be most likely.”

“I—I have better things to do—”

“It’s fine! I think it’s cute.”

“Well, I don’t do it,” I said, stupidly adamant.

“Cool.”

“Your turn to tell me what you’re working on,” I said.

“Ah!” It was a sound somewhere between surprise and a groan. “You and my advisor would both like to know. Tell you what. Let’s trade. I’m supposed to send a proposal by the end of the week. I’ll BCC you on the email, and you can get the official version.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“A video of your presentation for your professor. I like listening to you.”

That jumbled everything in my mind. Even now I don’t remember what I said to end the call or if I was coherent at all. I sat there on my floor for a while, just thinking, until grandmother knocked on my door.

She carried with her a plate of freshly cut mango, my favorite fruit. It’s impossible to find mangoes as good as the ones in Taiwan here, but that doesn’t stop grandmother from trying.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

We sat on my bed, taking turns forking mango chunks. A few weeks ago I would have brushed her off, told her everything was fine. Even now I wanted to, but something’s changed between us, a simultaneous opening and closing, and I recognized the mangoes as an apology of sorts. Slowly, I opened up to her. I told her Louise knew, that Meng had told her about Reforging, and I was feeling betrayed, though maybe that was too dramatic, and how, really, I didn’t know what to think.

Grandmother chewed her mango thoughtfully.

“But, Monica,” she said, “why do you frame this like a bad thing? To have somebody you can share all this with. Isn’t that a great fortune? That I had Meng to share my childhood with made all the difference.”

“Then why don’t you Reforge her pencil?” I braved. “To see what she has to share with you?”

She pushed the remaining mango to my side of the plate.

“I will,” she said unsteadily, and then her voice became sly, a return to form so strong it made me realize how much she had faded this summer. How much more she used to tease. “How about a trade?”