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“It used to be Toilet Boy in grade school. Nobody but me and the guys were allowed to call him that.”

“I bet,” she said, still tittering.

“So what was Mike like in school?” she asked.

“Popular,” I said. “Prom king, popular. He played, two… three sports?”

She smiled. “He did?”

“Oh yeah. Got scholarships and everything.”

“But he didn’t go?” she asked.

“No. He tore his ACL in his senior year.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. When I asked him about school, he just said he was a troublemaker.”

“He wasn’t. He was a good guy. He still is.” I smiled a little at my cutting board. “He used to protect us.”

“Protect you?” she said. “From what?”

“Anything? Anyone. He was the oldest. He took that job very seriously. Once Xavier snuck out with his dad’s car and picked us all up. He was fifteen, only had his permit. He crashed into a pylon at a drive-through at one a.m. Mike told Xavier’s dad that it was his idea to take the car and that he was driving. Tony made Mike lay pipe all summer for that.”

She shook her head. “Why did he do it?”

“Take the blame? Because Xavier’s dad was strict. It would have been worse for him. He probably would have sent him to military school.”

I watched her face go soft.

“I like that Mike did that,” she said.

I liked it too.

We finished the prep. The soup was on the stove simmering, so we went to sit on the sofa.

“There are no books here,” I said. “We have to watch TV.”

“Perfect. I have someone’s streaming password,” she said. Then she lolled her head to smile at me. “Sorry about that. My mom lacks boundaries.”

“Oh, I didn’t care,” I said honestly.

“You never came to go through those paperbacks,” she said, picking up Woofarine and putting him on her lap. “I texted you twice.”

“I got busy,” I said, not wanting to explain my real reasoning.

“Oh. Well you should come. I don’t have anyone to talk to about them. They’re so old there’s not even online reviews. I just finished this novel from the nineties about a guy in Anchorage who gets famous on one of the first reality shows. It’s so convoluted and I have nobody to complain with.”

“That does sound rough,” I said, trying to figure out the remote.

“If only there was someone who can read a book in three hours. Unless you made that three-hour book thing up.” She cocked her head.

“I didn’t make that up,” I said.

“No? Because I have the book in my purse. I already read most of it. You could read it now.”

“Is this a test?”

“It is not not a test.” She smiled.