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“He lied to me, Gabi.”

“Yes.”

She goes back to my hair and says nothing else, and I wait for the advice, and none comes.

After a minute I say, “That is all you have?”

“For what?”

“My life.”

“I’m doing your hair.”

“You usually have opinions.”

“I have plenty. They’re resting.”

“That must be painful.”

“Agonizing.”

She turns my head toward the mirror. My hair is up loosely, softer around my face than I would ever leave it myself.

She opens the makeup case.

“Gabi.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

Her hands stop.

Then she picks up a brush.

“You’re welcome.”

Ocho is warm and bright behind glass, the river visible beyond the windows while the last of the daylight disappears.

The television over the bar has the game on with the sound off. The Stampede are down two in the second. I do not look at it more than twice.

For a while we discuss nothing important.

When the server comes, I order what I want before checking the price.

Gabi orders something I know she will complain is too small.

It is. She steals one of mine.

I let her.

The server returns.

Gabi orders dessert.

I have not chosen one. She does not choose for me, which is new.

The server waits.