Remember the next year, sitting in a diner when we finally talked about it? You were so much better than I was, but we were both trying, getting our lives on track. You said that cigarettes would kill me, a clinger-on from our past lives. We looked at our meals and said that we were strong enough to eat them; we realized that our love for each other didn’t depend on an eating disorder. We entered back into each other’s lives and this time we took up more physical space than emotional space. It felt liberating and warm. We laughed when we thought about how unreal that year had been, then two girls walked in and ordered hot cups of tea and complained that they had eaten too much the day before, one girl announcing that her diet of an apple and a coffee had left her bloated. We stopped laughing then. Looking at a mirror of our past didn’t seem so funny anymore.