I do not understand one word she says to me until she gives up and speaks in English. It is simple and broken. I understand, "Let's go" or "Come here," but when she tries to explain a recipe or the life she left in Frankfurt, I smile until she stops at what I think is mid-sentence. She moves her eyes quickly to the German-English dictionary on my kitchen table and back again on to me, then snakes a finger into my closed fist, rubbing my palm like it's a strange and soft fur. She leans into my body and her hair smells of eucalyptus. When she tilts her head back to bite at my chin, words appear before me in big block letters.