“He’s never been a particularly kind man,” she says against the pads of my fingers. I move my hand to her chest, warm between her breasts. “But we’re alike in a lot of ways.”

She pauses and I have to bite my tongue not to say anything.

First because I get the feeling that Amy opening up about her father is not a common occurrence and I don’t want to scare her off with any sudden movements. But also because if I said what I want to say, an immediate and absolute disavowal of the notion that she is anything like the cruel man I met tonight, I don’t think she’d believe me.

Amy is not convinced by quick, empty words. Her currency is action.

Silence settles between us.

“I think that’s why I keep pushing for a relationship with him.” She laughs quietly. “Want to see what I’ll be like one day.”

I move my fingers back to her mouth, a gentle command to stop. “You’ll be like you,” I say.

A car sprays slush on the road outside and the sound makes its way up to her third-floor windows. Just the suggestion of the cold makes me want to burrow into this bed, into her. I want to be her blanket.

“You’re the one who should be proud,” she says against my fingertips.

“Of what?”

“You’re a good leader, Sophie. You’re brave.” She holds my hand to her face. “You told your mom. I can’t believe we haven’t talked about that.”

I shrug. “It’s okay. It was a little scary at first, but it turned out as well as I could expect.”

She arches an eyebrow and rolls back onto her side to face me fully.

“Listen, if you want to pretend that coming out isn’t a big deal, you can, but don’t bullshit me, Hollywood. I’ve done it. A million times, it feels like now. Every time.” She slashes her hand through the air. “It’s always a little bit terrifying.”

“Okay. Yes. It was scary. It’s like, I know my mom loves me and I don’t think she’s a homophobe but what if it’s different when it’s her kid? And I’m so old.”

“Yes,” she says, deadpan. “You’re ancient.”

“She’s had thirty years to think that I’m straight. I worried that finding out that wasn’t true would be hard for her to accept.”

Amy nods. “See?” she says. “Brave.” She kisses me, a hard press of her lips to mine as if to seal this as fact.

“I’d say it was my second-best coming out experience. But I’ve only had three so far.”

“Which was your best?”

I poke the freckle on her shoulder. “You.”

“Oh.” She laughs. “Yes, that was a pretty good one. What was your worst?”

I purse my lips. The sleet has picked up again, hitting the window beside her bed like a thousand tiny pebbles. “Paul.”

“Paul?” Slow realization dawns on her face. “Paul. Paul? Your fiancé Paul? The producer Paul?”

I nod.