“My gosh, I’ve been seeing you a lot lately! How many times has it been this week—three?” I laughed as she wrinkled up her nose at my question. “Guess you’re making up for my hermit weeks, huh?” She rolled her eyes as she passed me a takeaway cup. “I got you a latte, darling. It’s not in a glass, though. Do you think you’ll survive?” I shook my head, exhaling. “Yes, yes, very funny, pass it here.” There had been a continuing joke that followed me around like a bad smell. Many years back, Jess and I took a road trip together through the back blocks of Italy, ending up in a very derelict little town. I had gone into the first and only café on the main street and asked for a latte in a glass. The woman stood and scoffed at me, stating, “We don’t have glasses, but I can make you one in a cup—it will taste the same.” I wasn’t impressed, and neither was she. “I grabbed the paper too,”
