The bathroom at Galerie Seurat is the kind of bathroom that makes you feel underdressed even when you're wearing silk. Black marble, brass fixtures, a mirror that stretches the full length of the wall and lights you from above so you see every version of yourself at once. I lean toward my reflection and check my lipstick and tell myself I'm not hiding in here.
I'm not hiding. I just needed sixty seconds away from watching Amélie Dubois exist in the same room as my boyfriend.
The door opens behind me and I know before I even look up in the mirror. The universe has exactly that kind of sense of humor tonight.
Amélie moves to the sink beside mine, unhurried, setting down a small cream clutch. She checks her own reflection with the ease of a woman who has never once been surprised by what s
