Grace found me eating fried chicken begrudgingly. She approached the table, sat across from me, grabbed a piece of chicken, and started eating it too.

“I thought you had died, that’s why I came. But here you are, clogging your arteries with grease,” she said.

I set the piece of chicken aside and looked at her, a little surprised at how casual she was. Her comment was almost comforting in its simplicity, like old times.

“I want to consult something with you,” I said, putting the chicken down entirely. The question had been on my mind for days, and I needed to hear someone else’s opinion before I took the...