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I rub my ear. “Sorry, did you say Madame Bou—like my neighbor? The French woman?”

He nods. “Please, sit,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “Let me get you some crackers.”

I don’t love being told to sit in my own house, but my legs are still kind of shaky and the tea does smell really good. Agustín seems to have cleaned up the mess Pip made with the Boston fern. The Colonel jumps up next to me, leaning against my side as Hazel trots over. I think Charleston is still in the bathroom. Probably licking the floor.

I pick up Hazel and plop her on my other side—I do not want Agustín sitting next to me. Armed with two dogs, I grab the closest mug. It’s one Rachel got for me, white with pink lettering that reads May You Have the Confidence of a Mediocre White Man. I take a small sip. It’s wonderful—minty, and gingery, and slightly floral, orange blossom and a hint of lavender. Agustín comes back with the bowl of broth and a packet of saltines. My stomach growls so loud, Hazelnut side eyes me then huffs in disgust.

Agustín gives another resonant chuckle. “She has opinions, that one,” he says. “You must be starving.”

He grabs the other mug—with an illustration of a beagle giving two middle fingers with the words Fetch This under it—and plops down in Uncle Lenny’s old armchair. It’s one of the few things I kept of his after he died. He used to read the paper in it on uncomfortably silent Sunday mornings. It’s an olive green, midcentury modern, with walnut legs and high wingbacks.

I nibble at a saltine and sip some broth. When I finish the cracker, I feel like a new woman.

Charleston wanders into the room and bumps into Agustín’s leg. Agustín smiles. “Hola, gordito,” he says. He seems perfectly at ease, drinking his tea and scratching Charleston under his chin. I watch him suspiciously over the top of my mug. I should tell him to leave now. He’s done what he said he would.

Instead, I blurt out, “Why did you get tea from Madame Boularès?”

He seems delighted I’ve asked him a question. “You said a neighbor could help but you did not specify which one. So I went to all of them.”

I blanch. “You talked to all my neighbors? What … what did you tell them?”

“I said I was your friend and that you were sick. I got tea and some supplements that, to be honest, I do not trust. But they’re in the kitchen if you want them.”

“From who?” I ask, bewildered.

“The sporty lesbian couple,” he says.

“Soul Cycle gave you supplements?”

Agustín laughs. If his smile is like chocolate, his laugh is like a hot spring. Deep and clear and natural. “Is that what you call them? They call you the girl with the dogs.”

“This is New York,” I say. “No one knows anybody’s name.”

“You know Miriam,” he points out.

“Yeah, well, Miriam is nosy.”

“I like her,” he says, his left dimple winking at me. “She cares about you very much.”

I don’t know what to say to that. My stomach squirms and I grab another saltine.

“You have a very nice home,” he says, taking a sip of tea and looking around. “I love all of your plants.”

Heat blooms in my chest. “Thank you.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Since I was two years old,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

I shrug and lean into the Colonel for support. Somehow, the more I talk to Agustín, the easier it gets. The words come in the right order. “I inherited it from my uncle. He raised me.” I don’t want to talk about my parents, or how they died, or any of the darkness of my early childhood. I hope Agustín doesn’t ask. “And my uncle inherited it from my grandfather.”

“Ah,” Agustín says, nodding. “So it’s … what is it called here, rent-controlled?”

I nod. I am fully aware that I hit the lottery in the housing department. But I lost big time in the family department, so I guess the universe evens things out.

Silence wraps around us, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. Agustín seems completely relaxed. I don’t understand it. I’m weird. I’ve been ignoring his texts all week. I vomited in front of him. I don’t know why he’s still here.