“That’s it. That’s exactly it. We were together from the very beginning. I just can’t seem to . . . get over it doesn’t seem like the right term, because I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. But I can’t seem to get back to regular life. I mean, I’m doing everything I need to do, sort of, but I’m just—”

He trailed off, and Rebecca said, “Going through the motions?”

“Exactly!” He smiled, and an unexpected dimple popped out in his left cheek. “Exactly.”

“I get it.”

“I know you do.”

Daniel’s hand was resting on the table, next to his wineglass, and the next thing Rebecca knew she was putting her own hand over his.

“Did you go to the parent-teacher conferences?” Daniel Economics asked. His eyes were very brown, such a deep, chocolate brown that she could scarcely see where the pupil ended and the iris began.

“Peter went,” she said softly. “He was so good like that. He traveled a lot for work, and so when he was home he liked to be really involved with the kids.”

“That makes sense,” said Daniel Economics. “Because I think I would have remembered you, if you had gone.” He paused. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Does it get better? I’m still—I’m still in so much pain. Nearly all the time.”

Not yet, is what Rebecca was thinking. But she said, “A little bit. No, let me revise that. It gets a lot better, but only a little bit at a time. So you hardly notice it. And then one day you turn around, and it’s not as bad as it once was.”

“That’s really good to hear.” He reached across the table and touched her hair. He looked as surprised by this as she felt. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what made me do that. Other than the fact that you have beautiful hair.”

“Thank you,” she said. She got quite a lot of compliments on her hair, which was a dark chestnut color with a natural but manageable wave. It was one of the only features that marked her and Alexa as related. But people didn’t usually go around touching it. For some reason this seemed as un-strange as her putting her hand over his hand.

“Maybe we can be in pain together, sometime,” he said. “Maybe we can just talk, sometimes. Maybe we can be our own therapy group. With better cookies. Or real food, maybe. Maybe a meal!”

“I’d like that,” she said. She drained her glass.