Steph and Lisa lived in a two-story apartment building that looked like a 1950s-era motel. It was on a block lined with older cars and bungalows in San Rafael. I parked next to a manicured hedge in front of the building, checked my phone again for the apartment number, and gave myself one last glance in the rearview mirror. I’d pulled my hair back in a ponytail and put on a smear of neutral lip gloss, aiming for casual, and now I worried my lips were too shiny. I grabbed a tissue from my purse and rubbed some of the gloss off, which only made my lips seem pinker and more swollen. I looked like the girl in the pictures Jacob had taken.

I crumpled up the tissue and got out of the car.

Steph and Lisa’s apartment was on the ground floor in the corner, where the building bent like an L around a courtyard with a dry fountain. The windows were covered with half-closed blinds, and through them I could see the flickering of a TV. I pressed the buzzer and didn’t wait long before the door was opened.

“Hey,” Lisa said. She was holding a PBR in one hand. “You found us.”

The door opened into the living room, where an overlarge blue-and-white sectional, across from the TV, took up the majority of the space. A couple of movie posters were tacked up on the wall over the sofa: The Wild One, with Marlon Brando on a motorcycle, and Mädchen in Uniform, with two women looking pensively past each other. A breakfast bar separated the living room from the kitchen, where I saw Steph and Mel bending over something on the counter. They looked up as I came in and waved at me, but didn’t leave the kitchen. Their hands were white with flour.

“Aria!” Mel called. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. How about you?”

“Even better now that you’re here,” Mel said.

“You want something to drink?” Lisa asked.

“Sure.” I followed her toward the kitchen. It was U-shaped, with the breakfast bar on one arm, the sink and refrigerator across from it, and the stove and a narrow dishwasher crammed into the short side. Lisa edged into the small space and opened the fridge.

“Diet Coke or beer?” Lisa asked.

“Diet Coke, thanks.”

Lisa held a can out to me and then went around to lean against the front of the breakfast bar. I joined her, sliding onto one of the two stools.

“Did you get pepperoni?” Mel was saying. “We were out of it last time.”

“Yeah,” Steph said. “I’ll get it.” She went to the fridge while Mel began to stretch the dough on the floured counter.

“Can I do anything to help?” I asked.

“No, we got it,” Steph said. “Mel and I have been making pizza since when? High school?”

“Since we used Boboli crusts,” Mel said.

“So glad we evolved,” Steph said.