He needed a shave.

He looked up when he heard my shoes.

“Jess.”

I stopped.

“We could still not do this,” he said.

And there was a second — I want to be honest, because women are not supposed to admit this — there was about one full second in which the shape of the last ten years came up in me like water, and I thought about the floor of the apartment above the dry cleaner and the two takeout containers.

Then I thought about a text message that said exactly like we said.