"Which hand do you think yours is on?" Marie asks, holding her own gloved hands up to the sunlight, as if she could tell better that way.

I swallow my spoonful of froyo, "I don't know," I spoon some more into my mouth.

"Well you've got a 50/50 chance. I think it's my left, er right, yeah right, I am right handed." She takes a dainty bite of her froyo, barely leaving a dent while I'm halfway done.

"It doesn't matter, my mom has her mark on her left but she's a righty." A couple walks down the sidewalk, hand in hand as it shines from within. "Why does it matter what hand it is anyway? You gonna rub it against every guy you pass if you knew?" I can't help but laugh at the image.

Marie laughs along too, "That sounds so wrong!" She laughs and wipes her eye, "No, you know it doesn't work that way, I just think it'd be cool to know." She flips her hands back and forth, front to back, front to back.

I shrug, "Yeah, I guess." I say while scraping the remains of my froyo out of my cup.

Marie drops her hands to her lap, "I don't understand you, Eliza. How are you not tantalized by the mystery right in front of you?!" She questions me for, at least, the 5th time this month. Her sudden obsession over her Missing Piece, and 'true love' driving me up a wall, ever since she turned 17.

I stand up from our shaded table outside the froyo shop, "Why obsess over something you have no control over? What's the point?" I state my view again for the 5th time. I toss my spoon and cup into the neon trash bin. As I walk back to my place I feel her disapproving glare on me. I sigh as I sit back down, knowing full well I'm about to get 'the speech'.

"When are you going to show emotion for once in your life?"

This surprises me, she usually starts with 'Don't you like to daydream, have some fun?' Or something along those lines, so this start catches me off guard. "What? What do you mean?" Is all I can manage.

"'Emotions', 'Liza. I mean, sure, you've got the basics: happy, sad, mad, afraid, etcetera; but what about 'romance', 'love', 'longing'? Complex but essential." She leans in closer and closer over the table until I have the urge to back away.

But I stand my ground, "When did you become my psychiatrist?" I defend.

"When you consistently never fantasize with me over meeting our true loves, when you consistently never contribute to my conversations on my, our, Missing Pieces. 'Liza, I love you, but cooommeee onnn, you've got to give me something!" She abruptly leans back into her seat and shoves in a full spoonful of her slightly melted froyo.

I'm dumbfounded; Struck in disbelief at her slight explosion on me. "Well, well what do you want from me? To fake it?" I retort.

She sighs, "No, but, never mind." she gives up, turning back to her froyo.

Now I feel bad, I get up and move to her side of the table and hug her, "I'm sorry," I have to admit.

It takes her a second to hug me back, "Well, thanks for putting up with me."

"What are friends for?"

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