I pulled a pan out of her cupboard. It was hard not to think about the damage my dad had done to their family. I wondered if his actions were why she had a roommate instead of her own place. If that was why she and Little Cut lived so modestly when everyone assumed they were trust fund kids. That mattered less and less to me the more I got to know them. But it was hard not to think about now that I knew my dad robbed their family. I set the pan on the stove harder than I meant to.

"I see him every day!" I responded.

"Yeah, but at work. That doesn't count."

"It counts." It didn't count. At work was busy and professional. Last week we didn't talk about anything besides an order for swivel chairs and a backlog of dining room chairs.

"He was jealous I was seeing you today."

"Do you have any bay leafs?"

"Oh, please."

"Okay, we can live without."

"Turns out he's not with Mindy after all."

"So, the trick here is to stir the sauce constantly. If it gets too brown, your Croque Madame is going to be bummin'."

Marnie sighed a theatrical sigh. "Constant stirring. Got it. How're things with your dad?"

"Mm. Better. Not perfect, but better. I'm excited for Christmas, actually. In a stressed-out kind of way. My step-dad invited us, my dad included, to his house. How generous and painfully awkward is that?"

Marnie cringed. "Super awkward. But nice. Man. That's really nice. Your step-dad must be a saint."

A cozy warmth webbed throughout me when I thought about how very sweet the invitation was. I may not know exactly what my mom saw in my dad, but she sure did nail it with Tim. There aren't many men that would invite their wife's ex-husband over for the holidays. Even if he wasn't an ex-con. Talk about selfless. My mom wasn't even alive to give him brownie points for this, and still, he extended the invitation and it sounded heartfelt over the phone.

I was making extra croque madams for Marnie and I because she claimed she'd never had one before. "Sorry, you went to France and did not eat a croque madame?" I pushed my jaw closed. "What about a croque monsieur?"

She shrugged, "I just ate cheese and loaves of bread!"

I fake whacked her with a wooden spoon, "Baguettes! They're called baguettes!"

Once I got her to promise she'd never pass up the chance to have an honest to goodness French sandwich ever again, we fell into the easy quiet that comes with good friendship. The kind where you can think about whatever you want without worrying about entertaining the other person. I don't know what Marnie was thinking about as she stirred, but I let my mind drift to my mother's postcards. I'd framed a few of the least damaged and hung them in the living room. I didn't know if they made my dad uncomfortable, but also, I didn't care. We were making strides, he and I, but there were some fissures in our relationship to deep and wide for even Seinfeld to mend.

After not cooking for so long, most recipes required more concentration than I had to give them when I was cooking regularly. I wasn't on auto-pilot anymore, throwing seasoning around willy-nilly and "guesstimating" on oils and sauces. It made me sad, but I was determined to get to that point again. Thankfully, croque madams were one I could still do without much effort. I threw them in the oven and shut the door with a flourish, just as Marnie spun toward me. "Ohmygosh. What time is it?"

"Time for you to get a watch."

She didn't even take a moment to roll her eyes. "Ohmygosh. I'm supposed to be at my Accounting study group!" Her binder whacked me as she ran past, gathering things from the counter. "Here!" A key slid across the counter and fell to the ground. "Let yourself out! Leave the mess! I'll get it when I come home!" She shoved an arm into her coat while wiggling an ankle into her boot.

Being late used to give me all kinds of anxiety, but after my mom died tardiness became another habit I just couldn't bring myself to care about. Another sign I was coming to terms with my loss: just thinking about Marnie being late was make me nuts. "Go! Here!" I stuffed the container of chex mix I'd brought over into her hands. "Nobody cares if you're late if you bring snacks. Go!" She blew kisses at me as she ran out the door. Barbara and I shut the door and looked at each other.

"Well. I guess we'll tidy up and hit the road, pup." Marnie may have said I didn't have to clean up, but if there was one thing my mom taught me about cooking, it was that a cook's job isn't done until the kitchen is clean again afterward. I dumped the dishes into the sink and got to work. Halfway through the bechamel saucepan, I heard, "Hello? Marn?" I flicked my hands and walked into the living room. Unlike my apartment, where you could see everybody no matter where you stood, Marnie's apartment had actual walls dividing rooms. Fancy.

"Hey, Ryan."