That’s the thought that keeps crossing my mind as I sit in the restaurant, picking at the seam along my sleeve where it’s starting to wear thin. Beneath the overly bright lighting, the cheap black cotton of the jacket I usually wear to funerals is faded, gray, nubby with use. Across the table from me, Luc’s staring blankly at the menu. His blacks aren’t looking too hot, either. The jacket is too small across the shoulders, stretched tight, his wrists popping out from beneath the cuffs. At seventeen, my brother’s taller than Aave was. By default I’m the tallest girl, since Ehm’s gone, too. I toss my menu down. “I guess I’m just going to get the same thing I always do.” Luc shakes his head in puzzled disgust, glances up at me. “Why do we keep coming here, again? The food sucks.” “I think Aave kept making us come back? He always said Balthazar’s was one of his favorite restaurants in the Grid. And we just kind of … never stopped.” “Yeah, probably. I swear the guy had a stomach lined with steel.”
