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Meanwhile she’s coldly interrogating me with her eyes. She’s definitely in charge of this house and this moment. This must be Chloe.She escorts me to a table full of people and presents me. She introduces them briefly. This one’s from Morocco, that one from Italy, he’s Persian–I’m not exactly sure what that means–this one’s from “the UK.” They’re all in their twenties, poised and dismissive. They don’t know or care who I’m supposed to be at home or where I went to school. They’re measuring something else I can’t see and don’t understand.They nod and turn back to each other. They seem to be waiting for a cue from Chloe to release them from having to feign interest. She introduces herself at substantially more length. Her father is Chinese and her mother is Swiss; she grew up in Hong Kong and “in Europe.”I grew up in Michigan and in Michigan. But she didn’t ask.
