Correcting me.
“You told Dr. Shah you slept seven hours.”
“I did.”
“You slept five.”
“I was approximating.”
“You were lying.”
“I was rounding.”
“You cannot round five to seven.”
“I built a technology company. Numbers are flexible.”
She stared at me.
I surrendered.
“Five.”
“Thank you.”
One afternoon after an appointment, we stopped at a small café near Central Park.
For years, Vanessa and I had spoken mainly through attorneys, family invitations, and carefully controlled holiday dinners.
Now we sat across from one another eating soup.
Ordinary soup.
It felt stranger than court.
“Why did we become so bad at this?” I asked.
“At soup?”
“At talking.”
Vanessa stirred her tea.
“You wanted every problem solved.”
“That is usually considered a useful quality.”
“Not when the problem is another person.”
I smiled faintly.
“That sounds rehearsed too.”
“It might be.”
She looked out the window.
“When you got sick, you became terrified people would see you differently.”
