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“Yes,” I manage, sounding like a robot powering down.

I glance at my copy ofNinety-Nine Thingsbetween us on the table. Everything about this encounter feels tremendously embarrassing.

“I’ve just had... you know... a...”

“Bad day?” he says.

I nod. I don’t want to get into my personal life with Noah Ross. He’s being slightly less noxious than the first two times we met, but still, everything could go wrong at any moment.

He turns toward the window and lifts the jacket he’d slung over the second seat. Beneath it, I recognize the same animalcrate I saw him carrying on Sunday on the Upper West Side. I lean forward, and there is the black-and-white rabbit, asleep inside.

“You have a bunny,” I remark.

“You have a tortoise,” he says, like this is the end of the conversation.

“Wonder who’ll win the race,” I say, which actually makes him laugh. “Alice was my neighbor’s. Mrs. Park. She moved to Florida a few years ago and couldn’t have pets at her new place. She asked if I’d take Alice as a favor. I’m really glad she did,” I say, smiling at the pleasant thought of Alice. She’ll wonder where I am tonight, but she has enough food and water to last until I’m back tomorrow.

I glance at Noah, because now it’s his turn to say something about his own unlikely companion.

“This is Javier Bardem,” Noah says, looking at the bunny. “He used to be my mother’s.”

“Your mom sounds like she has good taste in men.”

There’s a silence intended for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. He points at my thermos.

“Is that egg drop soup?”

“It is,” I say, feeling my hackles rise. “It was a gift, and it’s my favorite, so don’t—”

“I was merely going to say, it smells good...allthroughout the car.”

“My soup and I will be happy to reseat ourselves somewhere else,” I say. Though I wish he’d be the one to leave. I unwisely unpacked three tote bags’ worth of stuff onto the table.

“No, stay,” he says. “I need you for cover.”

“What does that mean?”

“Three words,” Noah says, reaching into a brown paper bag. “Tuna. With. Onions.” He takes out a paper-wrapped parcel and soon reveals a large and extremely fragrant sandwich. My eyes start watering, again. “They were out of falafel at my favorite deli, so... Maybe our aromas will cancel each other out?”

Against my will, I laugh, and I’m shocked when Noah does, too. I raise my thermos and he holds up his sandwich. We lock eyes.

“Cheers,” I say, “to enjoying odiferous food in confined public spaces.”

I’m chewing a wonton and learning that I just can’t be in a bad mood while chewing a wonton. Noah’s chewing, too. The train comes out from underground, and we both look out the window awhile at the pink dusk of almost-spring. Would it be too much to ask for us to eat in silence the rest of the three-hour journey? We actually get along when we’re not talking.

My phone buzzes. When I look down, I see that Aude has sent me a photo. Of a keychain. My keychain. The one with Ryan’s key on it.

Please tell me this isn’t yours, she writes.I found it by the elevator bank.

“Ohno.”

“What’s wrong?” Noah asks.

“Nothing.”

“You sure? Because you look like you’re about to faint.”

“You have no idea what I look like when I’m about to faint.” But I do feel a little woozy. The image of Iris Bosch dumping my family heirlooms at Goodwill glows in my mind.