We laughed. ‘I’m not judging you!’ she said. ‘Oh, man. Books! Yeah. Books. Music. And I actually like, um, robots.’

‘Robots?’

‘Yeah. I kinda want to go to school for robotics engineering.’

Christ. If I hadn’t felt inadequate before … ‘OK, what’s your favourite?’ I asked, imitating the way she’d said it.

‘Touché … Wait,’ she said when I laughed. ‘I’ll try to answer. All three?’

I nodded. ‘Ten seconds. Rapid fire.’

‘Ok, I guess I like Their Eyes Were Watching God but I might just be saying that because I just read it, my favourite robot is Sophia, the one that says she’s gonna kill everyone, and, God, like … I can’t pick a song. I like this album by Arcade Fire. Funeral?’

‘So, you only sort of picked a favourite book, and then you had the audacity to pick an album called Funeral.’

Her frown suggested she thought I was serious at first, but I broke, smiled, and then we both came apart in completely inappropriate laughter. Something about the way we spoke reminded me of dancing, one foot moving to match the other, a quiet swapping of dominance. I worried I would step on her toes.

‘Sorry. But, er, speaking of which.’ She swung towards me, crossed her legs. ‘How … are you?’ She didn’t say it the way it’s normally said, with a sort of indifference as to what the answer will be; this was heavier. She meant it.

‘Yeah, I’m, uh, yeah, I don’t know. Fine, I guess.’ June raised an eyebrow. I worried she could read my mind: not fine, not fine. ‘Mom, uh, my mom wants me to go to a support group.’ I said ‘support group’ slow, like I was trying to pronounce words in another language.

‘Oh yeah?’ June replied. I nodded. ‘Were you studying up?’ She glanced over at Grief Counselling and Grief Therapy, then tossed it to me over the coffee table.

‘Yeah, sort of. I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t think I want to go.’ I didn’t want to talk about me. Flicked through the pages again just to have something to do. ‘But other than that, yeah. I guess I’m fine. How are you? You said … you were having a bad night.’

‘I’m OK. I can get kind of – stuck in my head.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It happens.’

‘Have you, uh, gotten a replacement therapist?’

She laughed. ‘Well, that’s the problem. The position remains unfilled. But yeah, no, I haven’t. I’m getting there, though. Yeah. Getting better.’

I wondered what June would’ve said if I brought up the fact that I had a folder containing all of her deepest darkest secrets nestled directly to my right. Maybe she’d already realized. To be fair, none of her secrets necessarily had to be deep or dark. But if they were, they were in there.