“She said she’s expecting you, so you can go in.”

I let myself into Bette’s office. She was typing like a maniac. “Just a sec,” she said, eyes on the computer screen.

“I wait for no one,” I announced, tossing the pizza box on her desk. “Not even you.”

Bette smiled slightly. “Thanks for having dinner with me, by the way,” she said. “I figured if I eat early, I won’t be so stressed about making myself leave work earlier. And I can go to sleep earlier. And if I go to sleep earlier, I can-”

“I get the general picture,” I said, smiling. She rolled her chair away from the computer, giving me her attention. “So, yeah, the Mexican place on East First Street? Did close. I was like, how lame.”

“It is ‘lame’, then.”

I snickered. “So, I figured what’s the best alternative? Pizza. Always go with the pizza. So I got us pizza.”

“So I had gathered from the pizza box.”

“And sodas. In cans. Because I was feeling really sophomore year in college, hours before my final exam.”

Bette laughed. “Sounds good.”

“Although,” I said, as we sat down to eat, “sophomore year in college, hours before the final exam, you were probably in the library or something.”

Bette nodded. “Of course.”

“See?” I said, pleased. “I know you so well.”

“Sure,” she agreed, apparently humoring me. “You could write my biography.”

“I could,” I said, putting my pizza down, “but it would be pretty empty of details about your home life and stuff.”

Bette scowled briefly. She chewed slowly and meticulously and said, “And?”

“That’s all. I was just saying, you don’t talk about that.”

She shrugged. “I’ve told you things. You know more than most people know.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Al. Don’t push it.”

I poked at my pizza, annoyed, and started picking off the broccoli, which I had only got because she ***** likes it and I hadn’t thought to get it half-plain. I made so many dumb sacrifices for her. And I just kept waiting for her to care about them.

I licked my lips. “Bette, remember when you came to my mom’s to drop my book off?”