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There’s a line out the door and Jackie’s pulling horrible shots. I want to put her back on the register.”
    “I’ll be right out,” he says. When she’s gone, he turns to me and takes my hand. “Hey. When can we talk about this?”
    “I’ve already decided. I’m not having it.”
    “Huh.” He looks at the wall, pasted with flyers about workplace safety and the minimum wage in California. “Is there anything I can do?”
    “You can pay for half the procedure.”
    “How much is that gonna be?”
    “I think it costs two hundred and fifty dollars,” I say. “But I might just be getting that from
Dirty Dancing.
”
    —
    It’s almost four o’clock and outside it’s getting windy. The fog is rolling in to the north and the south, sparing our little bowl of a neighborhood, where it is always sunny. A block away from where I live on Shotwell Street, I run into Sean. He’s got his laptop bag over his shoulder and he’s wearing a fedora.
    “Hey,” he says. “I put you in my new book. You’re the Scottish girl in the pop band. Chapter six.”
    “I’m English,” I say. “Let’s go. Rematch.” I put out my hand and we grip each other’s fingers and start moving our thumbs from side to side.
    “One two three four,” we say in unison. “I declare a thumb war.”
    “Okay, kiss,” I say, pushing my thumb against his for a second. “Now, bow.” We both bend our thumbs at the knuckle. “Into your corners, come out fighting.” It doesn’t take long for him to pin me, his thumb covering mine completely, and he takes his time counting up to knockout.
    After he’s won three rounds, he asks me, “When are we gonna go on a date?”
    “I told you,” I tell him. “I’m not attracted to you.”
    “Shut up,” he says. “Seriously, when can we go out?”
    “I don’t see you in that way,” I say. “All I can offer you is friendship.”
    “You’re not scaring me,” he says. “How about Wednesday?”
    “I don’t date writers,” I say. “I really can’t stand writers.”
    “Maybe Thursday’s better?”
    “Don’t you people realize that nobody reads books anymore?”
    “I want to go on a date with you. To SFMOMA. Next week.”
    “I can’t next week,” I say. “I’m having an abortion next week.”
    “Shut up,” he says. “You look hot today. Meet me right here on Thursday at five.”
    “I won’t be here,” I say as he walks away.
    “It’s a date!”
    —
    My roommates are giggling in the living room when I get home. “Claire,” Sophie calls out. “Can you come film us? We’re trying to make a video response for YouTube.”
    She has her hair pulled back and is wearing a white onesie. She’s sitting on Andrew’s lap. I take the camera from her and stand across from them. When I press RECORD, Sophie starts gaga-ing like a baby. Andrew holds out his index finger and Sophie bites it.
    “Ow, Charlie bit me,” Andrew says in an attempt at an English accent. Sophie clamps down again. “Ouch ouch ouch. That really hurt, Charlie, and it’s still hurting.”
    When they finish, I stop filming and they collapse with laughter.
    “Let’s do another take,” says Sophie.
    “Let’s watch it first,” says Andrew.
    “Yeah yeah,” says Sophie. “Claire, you wanna see the original?”
    “No thanks.” I hand her the camera. “I don’t think babies are funny.”
    In my room, I find my phone card on the desk and follow the automated prompts until I’m talking to my mother in London. It’s nighttime there.
    “Hiya,” I say.
    “Hiya,” she says.
    “I need to talk to you about something.”
    “Hold on, how do I get this thing on speakerphone? Meredith, can you do it? I can’t find the button. I don’t have my glasses. Can you see it?”
    “Hi, Claire,” says my brother Paul, when they’ve got it worked out.
    “Hiya,” says my sister Meredith.
    “Hi, Claire Bear,” says my father.
    “Hi, Claire,” says my ex-boyfriend Alistair.
    “Hey,” says my sister-in-law