“Just relax and think,” I instructed. Maybe I could get something out of her with a little guidance. “You said it for a reason, Irene. Did something about my apartment trigger something for you?”

Her nose crinkled with even greater concentration as I watched, but I didn’t smile in case it distracted her.

Finally, with a hesitant look of triumph, she said, “I…I think I may have been a lot like you, Simon. A collector. When you were talking about how you never could find the time to take care of all these things or get them put away, well, it struck a chord in me.” She thought for a moment longer. “I think that’s something that I may have been doing with my own life. Or if I wasn’t, I think it’s something I would have been very much interested in doing.”

“Well, that’s certainly a start,” I said encouragingly.

My stomach rumbled loud enough for both of us to hear. “Are you hungry? I’m going to cook something.”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, thank you. Given my…condition, I’m not exactly sure how I would manage that anyway.”

“Right,” I said, feeling the fool once again. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Simon,” she said sternly. “It’s okay.”

It was the first time she had said my name, and a smile crept upon my face.

“It’s terribly sweet of you to offer, though,” she continued. “For your sake, I couldtry to eat but I have a strong suspicion it would end up all over your couch, like Mr. Christos’s drink back at the cafй.”

There was an awkward moment before I took that as my cue to get up off the couch and made my way to the kitchen. I worried about leaving her alone, but I could still keep an eye on her over the counter that divided the two rooms.

I stripped off my gloves and pulled some questionable-looking chicken from the fridge. Living dangerously, I set it in a skillet over low heat while I chopped up a mix of garlic and portabella mushrooms. When I was done, I poured balsamic vinegar over the veggies and threw the mixture into the skillet as well. I started in on a zucchini as I noticed that Irene had moved herself to one of the stools on just the other side of the counter, where she seemed content to watch me work.

“No offense,” she said, “but that seems like more of an effort than I’d expect from a typical bachelor.”

“I used to eat take-out nearly every night. Enough MSG in my system for seven heart attacks, probably.”

“So why did you learn how to cook?” she asked.

“The curse of my life,” I said. “Women. I’ve never had luck with the ladies, but I thought I might keep them around a little longer if I at least learned to impress them with cooking. It didn’t really work, but I did get used to eating well. Even though I’m alone, I don’t feel like going back to my menu-collecting days.”

“Well, I’m impressed,” she said, clapping. “And just what do you call what you’re making?”

I threw the zucchini into my countertop steamer and leaned over the counter conspiratorially. “I call this mealThird Date with Jessica. Better known asLast-Minute-Download Number Sixteen. Not terribly romantic sounding, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it worked like a charm,” she said. “I know it would have worked with me.”

I looked at her and her body flickered as she blushed. I suppressed a smile. As usual, I had made quite a mess in such a short time in my kitchen. I set about cleaning up the remnants of my handiwork as my food cooked. I hoped keeping busy would help me avoid any further dorkiness on my part.

“Do you miss it?” she asked, resting her chin on her open palms. “Cooking for two, I mean?”

I turned on the faucet and let the warm water run over my hands while I thought about her question.

“Do I miss having someone around is what you mean,” I said. “I don’t know. I’ve never gone long enough dating someone to really feel the ties of cohabitation. I’ve gotten pretty used to the hermit life. I like my space. It’s set up the way I prefer it, except for all that packing clutter. I’m comfortable in it.”

Irene waggled her finger at me. “That doesn’t really answer my question, now does it, Simon? Shame on you!”

“Okay, okay!” I said with a grin. “I admit it. I like having someone around. I miss the company, the sound of another person’s voice, someone to cook for. But what am I going to do, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

It had been a long time since I had confided the truth about my powers to anyone. I took a deep breath. I held up my soap-covered hands and flexed my fingers at her. “I mean, what am I going to do about these?”

“You mean, what you did with the PEZ dispenser back at the cafй?”

“You watched that?” I asked.

She grinned sheepishly. “I was eaves-watching.”

I nodded. “Well, psychometry doesn’t really make being with someone an option.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a shake of her head, “but I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand what that is really.”

I washed my hands and slipped my gloves back on as I stepped to her on her side of the counter. I headed for a carton sitting behind the couch, grabbed it by its flaps, and rested it on my lap as I sat on the barstool next to hers.

“What is all that?”

“The remnants of girlfriends past,” I said. I slanted the carton to show her the items within. Scarves, mix tapes, pictures, books, hairbrushes, and even a few pieces of sexy underwear from Victoria’s Sock Drawer or wherever they had been purchased. I moved the box closer so she could see everything, making sure I didn’t let either of my hands touch anything in it. I could feel the electric pull of my power stirring just holding the box, so I put it back down hastily. “Things they left behind or things they gave me. For most normal people? Pleasant memories of their time together. For me? They’ll never be anything more than invasive doorways into other people’s thoughts. Intimacy beyond intimacy. Everyone else’s memories are stored in these, but for me they’re pain in its purest form.”

“Why do you keep them then?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Look around, I’m a packrat, maybe that’s it. Or maybe I have trouble letting go because in some sick way I see it as some sort of penance for being cursed with this power.”

“But surely you must take some consolation in helping others with your gift!” she said.

Before I had a chance to answer, the smell of garlic overpowered me and I ran back around the counter to save my dinner from the brink of burning ruin.

“Yeah,” I said once things were back in control. “For most of my life, my ability has been treated as nothing more than a magic act or something to laugh over. Now I’m finally able to use it to some good end other than my own selfish needs and I like it. I can deal with all that. What Ican’t deal with is how it affects my personal life, especially dating. I don’t want to be in the head of someone I’m involved with. It’s…it’s devastating. Do you know what it’s like to see someone you’re dating having sex with another person?

“If that isn’t some heavy strangely homoerotic shit to deal with, I’d like to know what is. And everything in that box is a trigger for visions like that. Just like anyone who gets close to me is.”

To help the weakening sensation pass, I pushed past the disorientation and plated my food, setting the still sizzling skillet back on the stove. It felt exhausting to finally articulate out loud what had been rolling around in my head unspoken for months, but liberating, too.

“At least you can touchsomething,” Irene said without a hint of sympathy.

There was awkward silence for a moment, but then we both burst out laughing. I felt a little embarrassed about how whiny I must have sounded. Still, it lightened the dark mood I was setting with my “poor me” ramblings. Suddenly I felt in better spirits. To tease her, I cut myself a nice, big juicy piece of chicken with several mushrooms piled high on top of it. I popped the whole thing in my mouth and chewed with slow, blissful satisfaction. “Too bad you can’t taste. Delicious!”