“He’s an idiot,” Miranda says emphatically as she forks roast beef into her mouth. She eats more than anyone else he’s ever met. “Dissociative Identity Disorder. Ha! He’ll be calling me Sybil next. Wait’ll Clarke meets him.”
“I take it that the session didn’t go well?”
Miranda gives him a long-suffering look. Lye focuses on his bread so she won’t notice his smile.
When she begins to pick up her tray to go, Lye puts a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve still got to eat your beans, Miranda.”
She gives him that look again but picks up her fork, anyway.