Something about that word narcissist registers like a pinprick under his skin, brief but unpleasant. He's been called that before--though by other people who knew him far less well than she does, to be fair--and he can see that it hurts her, having to apply it to someone who should love her unconditionally.

This is, he realizes suddenly, a lot like bringing back souvenirs: people need to be shown that you think of them when they aren't immediately in front of you, and they need to be shown that you think of them as being part of your life.

"You can borrow mine, then." He squeezes her hand. "Once every three months, whether I need it or not, she gives me some sort of lecture about women in STEM. She'll probably invite you to Christmas once she finds out what you do at Bart's."