There is really no good way to prepare yourself, even when deep down you already knew, to be a young adult sitting across from your childhood best friend in a wooden booth at The Veritable Quandary when she tells you over lunch that your dad molested her. I will warn you right now that when this happens to you, the entire room is going to swirl and then vanish except for your childhood best friend’s voice saying the words “your dad” and the bite of food on your fork as she says them, which you suddenly have no idea what to do with. Of that day, you will remember repeating how sorry you are and knowing as you keep saying it how inadequate it is, but you will not be able to figure out how to say anything else, and never will you mean a word more than this entirely insufficient one. You will protest when she insists on paying the check. Later, you will not remember how you got yourself home.