"I'd like to talk about what happened when I had no memory of my life or this place," she suggests in a calm way -- almost wry, but that can't be helped in the face of what happened. "And why it took me three weeks to screw up the courage to talk to you." He's John's age. And she'll be thirty-five in a week. None of this can be okay, even if things were unconventional. "Cook, would you look at me?"