The joke landed, then it landed again, and that's how I knew.
Everyone laughed at the first; that's what firsts are for. But she laughed harder at the second, same joke in a new coat, watching him check the room while she did it. Doing his job for him. Nobody saw. That was the point.
I'm good at rooms. Not proud of how I got that way.
She came in on a story about herself. A fire escape, a stolen bike, told too well. Details all load-bearing. You don't recall a stranger's belt color unless you've told it before, to someone who mattered.
Then the food came, and for half a second her face went flat. Not sad. Flat. Screen off.
She caught me seeing it. The screen came back on, brighter, and she asked me something easy. I asked about the bike.
She blinked once, and the answer came before she could build the good one. "Basement in a town I don't go back to. It's not the bike. It's that I can't remember if the fire escape was Grove or Pine, and I say it like I'm sure."
You get the polished version at the party. I only want the sentence after it.