So I find myself behind her in the buffet line. Given our somewhat fraught history, I’m not sure if I want to say anything, but of course I do, and eventually we manage to get a decent conversation going. I ask about her father’s health and she immediately tears up and starts sobbing. He’s terminal. Again I hesitate before doing what I most want to, but soon enough I’ve got my arms around her, surprised to find she’s now half a head taller than I am. You’re too much for me, I say. She just sniffs, smiles that archaic smile and kicks off her high heels as if to answer maybe not.