“Fuck you,” she says. She turns her back to him, pulls out a rag from the pocket of her apron that her nail file just disappeared into, and starts rubbing down the back bar. He can see her shoulder muscles working underneath the thin material of her blouse. He runs his finger over his wedding ring, which he still can’t bring himself to take off.

“Are you here until close?” he asks.

She doesn’t turn around. “Do you see anyone else here to relieve me?”

“Can I meet you after? There’s something I want to show you.”

She laughs. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“No, seriously.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Adam watches the Twins game on the screen behind him and finishes the last of his drink. He’s thinking about ordering a whisky when she says, “I’ll meet you in the lobby at ten after one.”

“Great,” Adam says, trying not to sound surprised. He drops a ten on the bar and leaves before she can change her mind. He is halfway across the lobby before he realizes he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go.

—

At five to one, Adam goes back down to the lobby. The lights in the bar are already off, so he sits on a bench across from the front desk to wait for Lisa. At the other end of the lobby, a janitor pushes a floor polisher in a slow path in front of the elevators.

“Hey,” a voice says. “Adam?”

He turns around, smiling, expecting Lisa. Instead, it is a young girl, fifteen or sixteen, with a Teen Vogue pout, rebel-pink streaks in her hair, and a clipboard under her arm, staring at him with an expression of earnest adoration. Great, just great, he thinks. He takes in a breath, composing himself. “Hi there,” he says.

“I can’t believe I’m really here!” The girl sits down next to him on the bench, her eyes wide and bright. “It was the craziest thing, I went to visit my grandmother this afternoon and she woke up right when I walked in, and I was like, okay, clearly this was meant to be, right? It was like, karma or something repaying me for everything I’ve been through, you know what I mean?”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Adam says, cranking up the television charm. “Adam Pelley. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand.

The girl’s eyes transform from bright to baffled as she looks down at his hand. Maybe kids don’t shake hands anymore, he thinks. Maybe a fist bump would have been more demographic-appropriate.

“I’m London,” she says slowly, emphasizing her name, as if she is talking to someone who doesn’t speak the language.