There's a nostalgic quality to the sensation that almost makes Jess like the sting. Up through the end of the first onion. Then her tears are forming as quickly as she can wipe them away.

"Yeah, right behind you." Both onions sliced, Jess goes to the sink. She runs cool water into her hands and splashes her face, eyes open. She does it two more times and twists the faucet shut. She flicks water from her fingertips and pats her hands on her jeans, then dabs her wet cheeks with the collar of her shirt. Without further delay, she scoops up the onions and heads out.

Jess summons the driest gusto imaginable to kick them off with, "Okay. Let's stab some meat."