I want to read David Foster Wallace with you. We’ll pause a lot. Eat Madeleines. Dunk them in tea. The pages of the book splattered brown with drips. Push the curtains closed. Read again. You tell me about the city where you lost your truth. I say I’m sorry. The air slips from the room. A slip falls to the floor and breaks like glass. We talk about the novel and how hard it is to read. So complex. I blush. All your teeth show. We agree. The book sits between us. We take turns reading and our voices carry across the house. Our sounds fill the silence.