LENA

She stopped at our table.

Not at a nearby table, not passing through the restaurant on her way to somewhere else, she stopped at our table with the specific and deliberate quality of a woman who had planned a stop.

"Lena," she said.

My name in her mouth.

I had heard my name in her mouth for twelve years and I knew every register of it, the dismissive version, the mocking version, the specific and particular version she used in front of company when she wanted me to know she was performing normalcy for an audience while communicating something else entirely. I knew all of them.

This was a...