“I just… I hope I still can.”

I rub my knee, glancing at Hilbert, and see that he’s already looking at me, smiling, eyes twinkling.

“Of course you can still dance,” says Shelley.

“We all can,” says Ruth.

“I remember attending my first dance in high school, how nervous I felt,” I say. “In my twenties I would go out dancing with one friend in particular. We’d dance for hours. I used to dance with lots of men back then. Different men. I could always find them. I felt confident on the dance floor. There were halls that you could go to.”

I can hear the music in my head. It’s so clear. “Duke Ellington was my favorite,” I say. “And Annette Hanshaw. I was so young.”

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m humming Annette Hanshaw’s version of “Love Me Tonight.” I make it through the first few lines and then stop abruptly, mortified that everyone’s sitting there listening to me, watching me. What made me speak so openly about something so personal?

“Tu es très jolie,” Ruth says to me. “C’est vrai.”

“Ruth,” says Shelley, “it’s still Penny’s turn to tell us a story.”

“No, no,” I say. “It’s okay. I prefer hearing Ruth speak French. I spoke a bit of French when I was young. I thought it was very romantic, and I wish I’d kept it up.”

“I was hoping you might find things in common with the others,” says Shelley. “And with me. The way you appreciate art, Penny, is the way I appreciate the human body. Even as a young girl, I was obsessed with learning everything I could about anatomy and the science of life.”

“What did you want, Penny?” asks Hilbert abruptly. “When you were young.”

Shelley looks surprised that Hilbert has cut her off.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, what did you want out of life?”

“That’s a big question,” I say.

“The biggest,” he says.

“Well, I suppose I wanted to get out of my own little world,” I say. “To see art. I wanted to read and meet people. I wanted to grow up so I could learn to paint.”

Hilbert is quiet. Eventually, he says, “When I was a young man I wanted to fully understand set theory and the possible sizes of infinite sets. Such a breathtaking mystery.”

His answer makes me laugh.

“That’s silly,” says Ruth, rolling her eyes.

“No, it’s not,” I say. “Not at all. I’m always trying to understand how to end my work. That’s my version of infinity.”

I haven’t known this man for long, but I can picture him then, still an undergrad. Modest, intelligent, lanky, preoccupied, handsome. And brilliant.

“I like that your version of infinite sets is completely different to mine,” I say.

“I’ve already learned a lot from you,” says Hilbert.

“Hardly,” I say.

But Hilbert reaches over and places a hand gently atop mine. It’s the first time he’s touched me. His hand is warm, heavy, comforting. Shelley notices his gesture.