Bloor Line, looking for a little "me time"

Black woman, early twenties, with wide face and slim build, wearing fitted black winter jacket and blue scarf threaded around her neck. She's surrounded by plastic shopping bags: one from the LCBO, another holding two items heavily wrapped in tissue and newspaper. On her lap, a knock-off designer purse, two sets of gold handcuffs secured to the handle.

My Friend Leonard, James Frey (Riverhead)

Near the beginning:

I met Lilly on my second day. I was standing in line waiting for detoxification drugs and she was standing in front of me. She turned around and said hello to me and I said hello to her and she asked what happened to my face and I shrugged and told her I didn't know and she laughed. I saw her and spoke to her later that day and the next and the next and the next. The treatment center had a policy against male/female relationships. We ignored the policy.

When asked, she'll say that she didn't know the office had set a cap on Secret Santa gifts, that, truth told, she'd gotten the gift for an aunt and uncle who were no longer attending Christmas dinner, that she'd have hated to see it go to waste, that bottle of Veuve Clicquot, those NovaScotian crystal toasting flutes, a night with a special lady, perhaps New Year's Eve.

Oh. He doesn't have a girlfriend?