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She knew he was talking about something they could play while shredding potatoes, but Leo plus the word game immediately made her think of Pokémon. She hadn’t thought about it for years, other than the occasional nostalgic moment when she spotted a kid’s sticker or a surge of horror when one of the gallery’s contemporary artists did an exhibition that featured a bunch of Pokémon in flagrante delicto, which, according to the comment cards, had ruined so many childhoods. But now she couldn’t help picturing taking out her old deck and giving it a go. She’d always liked the evolutions of Eevee, had shaped her deck more around the Pokémon she thought were cute than any sort of battle strategy. Leo, of course, was the opposite. His deck was full of big hulking beasts. “My Pokémon cards are still somewhere in my closet,” she said. Sure enough, the thought almost made her forget the pain in her arm. “Maybe that’s the strategy: palm off the potato grating on Talia and hide somewhere with our decks.”

He snorted. “The last I remember of your little sister, she was very close to her black belt in karate. I don’t know if I want to give her a grater and then piss her off.”

Shira hadn’t thought about Talia’s martial arts career for years, either. She had indeed gotten her black belt, placed at state, and then decided to quit before going to college. Shira had never been able to figure out how her sister could just drop something she was so good at, that she’d won so many prizes for. “Fair enough,” she said. “Then what game do you want to play?”

“Karaoke, obviously,” he said.

“Boring.” You couldn’t win a game like that.

“It’s not boring,” Leo said. “I’ll sing along to some of my favorite songs, and then you can do yours, and we’ll expose each other to great music. Surely you’ve always wanted to get into metal, and I haven’t listened to the latest Taylor Swift album yet.”

“You just assume I’m going to do Taylor Swift?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

There was no sense arguing when he was correct. “I don’t think you want to hear me sing.”

He paused for a moment and tilted his head as if considering. “You know, fair enough,” he said, and she was insulted before remembering that she’d spent her childhood serenading him with truly terrible versions of various Disney princess songs. “Just tell me your life story, then. Or at least the last eight years of it. Before that, I know everything already.”

She’d gotten her period for the first time at his house, so when he said everything, yeah, he really meant everything. “Fine.” She bit her lip, trying to remember the important points as her arm moved mechanically back and forth. Somehow the pile of potatoes to be shredded didn’t seem to be growing any smaller. “Um. Well, after you left, I made a lot of really emo art. Lots of black and rain and big smears of red meant to symbolize blood.”

“Your post-Leo period, if you will,” Leo supplied helpfully. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, glinting with laughter.

She dropped her stub of potato before she could shred her fingertips and grabbed another. “They actually got me noticed by the high school art teacher for the first time, and she encouraged me further. I enrolled in the high-level art classes and did some art shows. Painting my feelings out over you felt really good, and winning prizes and stuff was obviously great. But my parents told me I also had to be practical, and they were right, so I ended up double majoring at Columbia in art and economics.” She left out the whole college-application process, how high she’d felt after getting into an Ivy League school, like everything she’d done and sacrificed to get there had been worth it. “Then I moved out to LA to try and make it in the art world.”

“And you made it,” Leo said.

Her cheeks warmed, but in a good way. “I mean, I haven’t made it made it yet. I’m still at the bottom of the ladder, but it’s one I really want to climb.”

“And who do you mostly hang out with?”

She tried to catch his eye, but he was studying the potato he was shredding like it was going to bite him. To be fair, he was getting into stub territory, and the grater might actually bite him. He was probably keeping his eye on that, not avoiding hers because he’d basically just asked if she had a boyfriend. Which she didn’t. The art world was not exactly crawling with straight, age-appropriate, well-adjusted men. “I have a group of close friends out there. Danica, Ellery, and Nora. We’re all in the art scene.”

Speaking of which, she should probably check in with the group chat. Nora had woken up in a bad spot; she was supposed to bring the woman she’d been seeing home with her to meet her parents for the first time, but the woman had texted her this morning that she was getting a migraine and couldn’t make the trip anymore. Truth, or excuse because she was getting cold feet?

Shira was going to text something encouraging and girlbossy, all like You don’t need her anyway if she doesn’t see how awesome you are, but Danica was chiming in with her grandmother’s wisdom. She’d say not to have feathers in your mouth. It’s a Ukrainian saying. Just go talk to her.

Shira’s girlbossy thing seemed trite after that, so she backspaced. What Danica’s grandma said!! And then the dancing-lady emoji, obviously.

“Sorry,” Shira said, putting her phone down and picking her potato back up. Her fingers cramped in protest. “That was them now, actually. They’re my entire social life out there, really. Well, aside from the occasional drinks with coworkers or networking wine outing. How about you? Who are you hanging out with these days? Livvy?”

“Who?” he said blankly, and then it dawned on his face. “Oh my god, Livvy. I haven’t thought about her in years. I was such an asshole back then. I don’t think I even broke up with her. I just moved.”

That little part of Shira that was still fourteen years old—because everybody had a little part of them that would always be fourteen years old—felt smug. “You ghosted her before ghosting was even a thing.”

“Like I said,” Leo replied. “Such an asshole.”

“Have you ghosted anyone since then? Or have you been a better boyfriend lately?” she asked, trying to sound as light as possible. She didn’t even know why. It was a normal thing to ask someone, right? She was just curious.

He winced. “No, I didn’t really date in high school after I moved. Too busy being angry at the world. And then college, I don’t know. I dated casually but nothing serious enough where they would’ve been offended by me disappearing on them.”

College. So he did go to college. “Wait, where did you graduate from?”

His potato fell apart into shreds. “Nowhere,” he said, his tone light, as if he were amused by it. But she’d known him for most of her life, even if the last eight years were a blank spot, and she knew the difference between Leo’s real amusement and his fake amusement.

But she also knew what would happen if she put her potato and her shredder down and placed one mucky, slimy hand on his in an expression of sympathy. He’d stand up, drop his half-finished potato, and beat it out of here, probably not even taking the time to close the front door. So she kept her tone light in response. “Did your journey to become a Pokémon master take away from your studies?”

“Something like that,” he said, and his shoulders visibly relaxed, as if he’d been waiting for the pity. “The electric gym really energized me, but the psychic one messed with my head.”