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"That seems depressing."

"It's eggs."

"Exactly."

I look at the stack of pancakes in front of him. "You ate enough barbecue yesterday for three people."

"I drove four hours."

"Apparently driving burns calories now."

"It does if you do it right."

I smile. This is easier than yesterday. Not easy. But we're getting there.

For a while we talk about ordinary things. His classes. The apartment he shares with another student. The roommate who apparently believes dishes need to soak for two days before anyone can wash them. I learn Diego hates eight a.m. lectures, likes old trucks, and works part-time at a garage near campus.

"You work on cars?"

"When they'll let me."

"Thought you were studying engineering."

"I am."

"And fixing cars?"

"I like knowing how things work."

I understand that. "What kind of old trucks?"

"Mostly anything I can't afford."

I laugh. "That's usually how it works." He smiles and takes another bite.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Mom said you joined the Army at twenty-two."

"Yeah."

"What did you want to do before the Army?"

The question catches me. "Cook."

His fork stops. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You wanted to be a chef?"

"I went to culinary school."

His eyebrows lift. "You did?"

"For two years."