I’m not sure how many hours pass at the restaurant. Elizabeth and I have each had a few drinks, shared several pounds of bivalves, and are holding hands on the table. I keep staring down to make sure it’s really my skin against hers. A living woman. Someone I admire. She strokes my palm with her thumb and I feel the motion in every cell of my body.

”Tell me about your job search,” I say, dipping a piece of crusty bread in the buttery sauce from our ...