I looked at her. Really looked. And for the first time, I saw the cracks in her armor. The same cracks I had. Just hidden differently.

“I know,” I said.

“Then why don’t you?”

She catches me looking and grins. “What?”

She drove us to the 24-hour diner on the edge of town, the one with the cracked vinyl booths and the waitress who calls everyone “hon.” We sat in the back corner, and Vicky ordered us both milkshakes—strawberry for her, chocolate for me—and then she didn’t say anything for a full ten minutes. She just let me sit there, stirring my shake with a straw, watching the rain finally stop outside the window.

“Where are we going?”

“That’s why I moved in with you, you know,” she said quietly. “Not just because my apartment had mold. But because I was lonely. And I knew you were too.”