“Do you find it loud here?” I ask. “Do you hear things?”

“We have the space and time to work,” she says. “We’re lucky.”

She’s trying to synchronize our steps as we walk, until our strides are even and we’ve ended up at the spa room where I had my hair washed. The door is open, but no one is in there. Ruth stops us.

“On the first day, Shelley washes hair.”

“Yes,” I say. “Did she cut your nails?”

She grins, winks, and directs us in.

Ruth motions for me to sit down in the spa chair.

“Should we be in here?” I ask.

“Pourquoi pas?” She picks up a bottle of nail polish. “For the party,” she says.

She’s really giggling now as she moves around in front of me.

“Were you ever married, Ruth?”

Ruth has to think about it. “Not yet, but hopefully one day.”

“And you don’t have any children or family left?”

“Children will come after marriage.”

“I don’t think any of us have family left. There’s no one to check in on us or ask about us. Or visit. Does anyone get any visitors?”

“We’re together. We have everything we need right here. Don’t you remember painting our nails and putting on makeup when we were young?” she says, holding up her hand to show me her nails. All her nails are painted red like Shelley’s. Looking closer, I see that the side of one of Ruth’s nails has been cut too short, like my own.

All of a sudden, I can’t hear her anymore. I can’t hear her words. I can’t hear her voice.

Ruth speaks, her mouth moves, but I can’t hear any sounds. I bring my hand up to my ear.

Her mouth opens in a laugh, small at first, then wider, but I don’t hear it. What’s wrong with me? I watch Ruth’s mouth opening and closing as my panic grows and swells. My heart beats faster, heavier.

And then, as quickly as it happened, I hear her again.

“What? What’s wrong?” Ruth asks. “You look pale.”

“It’s nothing,” I say. “It’s… I like the color of your nails. Red suits you.”

I slowly get up from the chair to stand beside Ruth. We are shoulder to shoulder looking in the mirror.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?” she says.

“What?”

My new haircut is so much like hers. I hadn’t noticed it until I see us together like this, side by side. I look at my own face, closely, carefully, in a way I haven’t looked at myself in many years. I didn’t like the old face looking back at me, so at some point, I just stopped looking at it.

But I can see it now. My skin looks better.

It’s subtle. Maybe it’s because I’m sleeping so well. And eating. We stand, staring at ourselves and each other, until Ruth speaks.

“Do you think he likes us?”

Our feet are so close the sides are touching. She interlocks our arms again.