The kindness of this woman was humbling. He looked over at her, met her earnest gaze, and tried not to falter under it. She meant well. How did she stay so kind in a world like theirs? On impulse, he reached for her hand, drew it gently to his lips, thanked her without words.
But for all her kindness, he began to understand that she wasn't going to let this go. Better, then, to "It's Enigma," he said, hating how the name came out thready and broken. "She..."
He swallowed again, then leaned forward and turned the spigots off, one after the other. The drinks were ready.
"She..."
But the words were stuck. He leaned back again on the couch and shook his head. It was simple to say the words. A simple matter of speaking them. He pushed his attention past the meaning, then tried again. "She reminded me very much of S... Satine. She led me to believe she... that we... But she has another lover, and I..."
What? What did one do after such a thing? "I'm trying to forget."