"Because you think like that. And Jenna doesn't. Jenna dances for an audience. You dance like there's no one else in the room. Your life's not simple, Fiona. And you can't stop it from showing, because you're no fake." The tears come then, a little. Happy or sad, she doesn't know anymore. She's gotten so good at not being sad. "You're not lost," he says. "You don't need finding," he says.

Tell me to stop and I'll stop.

"This whole city belongs to the Jennas, but I'm sick of them. I swear, Fiona, you're nothing like anyone I've ever met. You make me want to enjoy my life again." He waits and then he wonders if she's hung up again.

She hasn't.

Steve sprints up the steps to the L, finds her finally on the other side of a passing train. Almost smiling, if she could smile -- if it wouldn't mean admitting anything. They head back down the metal hill and when he kisses her, she kisses back. The trains fly over.

"What have I ever done to anybody -- never mind you -- that made me look unreliable?" They're at dinner. Cloth napkins and wine glasses. She doesn't stick out; nobody's staring. "People like you are just way too used to getting your own way." He knows what she means but he needs her to say it so he can prove she's wrong. "Wait, all right. Yes/No. All you've got to do is agree or disagree."

Q: "He thinks the sun shines out of his own ass."
A: Agree.

Q: "He's overly generous, and that bugs me."
A: Agree. Actually, very agree.

Q: "Because I'm not used to getting spoiled."
A: A very bright smile. That word.

Q: "So I lose respect for guys like Steve, because people unlike Steve -- or people diametrically opposite to Steve -- have always let me down."
A: Getting warm. Getting hot. Wrong way, stop, turn around.

Q: "So deciding that he's overeducated and has more money than sense is somehow more socially acceptable than asking myself, for instance..."
A: You are fucking this up.

Q: "Why do the men I always date treat me like shit?"
A: There it is.

"Fuck you," she spits, and now they are staring, but something in his voice turns her back around. "Either/Or," he says. His eyes are completely open. He was being mean; he meant to be mean, a little. To make the point. To push it as far as they can so they don't have to talk about it anymore. To be mean so she'll know he's not mean.