She loves it when he touches her hair, leans her head into his hand. It's relaxing. So is this, too: a quiet night in a private place, the television noise in the background, even if she rarely actually watches it. It's nice that it's there. It feels normal. Feeling normal is still a little uncomfortable, like wearing a coat a few sizes too small, but she supposes she'll get used to it eventually.
"I don't think I've done this since I'm, I don't know... thirteen. My mother stopped making me go."
Lee hasn't said anything about her parents or her family, either. Michael knows a little bit — they were German war refugees, they met in Cyprus, where Lee was conceived, then settled in Tel Aviv. That's all. She's not even in contact with them anymore; when she writes letters or talks on the phone, it's never to them.