Turn 5 of 8

Order more food and dare her to keep up

Lena catches the waiter before he has properly turned away, which takes some doing, and she does it with a raised finger and a grin that feels borrowed from someone braver.

"Sorry — two more of the doughnuts, another bread and oil, and whatever the cheesy thing is on the board. And a glass of whatever she's having, because she's having something."

Priya's mouth opens and closes. Lena leans back, hooks one arm over the back of the chair so that the cropped top rides even further up, and enjoys — genuinely enjoys, in a way she cannot remember enjoying anything in years — the sight of her oldest friend at a loss.

"Keep up," Lena says. "That's the dare. You always used to say I was no fun at dinner. Prove you were fun."

The food starts landing again and the table stops having any clear surface. Priya, being Priya, does not back down; she pulls the bread board towards her and tears off a corner with unnecessary aggression, and for ten minutes it is almost the way it used to be at nineteen, the two of them talking over each other about people whose names Lena has to dig for. Lena eats through it steadily, past the ache, into the deep pressing fullness that makes her sit differently in the chair, spine straight because there is nowhere else for it all to go. She has to breathe more deliberately. She likes that too. The glaze from the doughnuts is on her fingers and she does not reach for a napkin.

"God," Priya says finally, dropping a crust back on the board. "I'm done. I'm actually done, and you've had about three times what I have."

"I know." Lena presses the heel of her hand under her ribs and feels the resistance there, warm and solid, and something in her hums with satisfaction so pure it is almost embarrassing.

"Isn't it great?"

Priya doesn't answer that. She wipes her hands, sets her napkin down with a strange finality, and when she speaks her voice has come down out of the banter and into somewhere quieter, the register she used to use in stairwells at three in the morning.

"Lena. Six weeks. Anjali's wedding was six weeks ago and you fit into that green dress. How? Not why — I've had the epiphany speech. How does a person do this in six weeks?"