Polly turned and looked at him scornfully. “One, a vole? Really? Two, it was the face part, that’s how I knew it was a mouse.” Then she added, “Plus I found a tiny pair of red shorts with white buttons.”

Libby laughed and raised his glass. “OK, Pol, you win.”

Laura gazed at Polly and wondered if she would get funnier if she worked with Nina all day, too, or if Polly was the one who’d been funny first and had influenced Nina. Laura always wanted to be quippy, but usually by the time she thought of a good thing to say, it was too late. Like, three days too late. Then Bob appeared, looking like a million bucks and carrying a bottle of beer. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he stood by the doors, making a fuss over Daisy. He looked up at Laura and smiled. She felt a little less overwhelmed. A friendly guy with a nice face, that’s all. Then she remembered what a fool she’d made of herself earlier, and looked away.

The dogs burst into a frenzy of barking, and Maggie ran out into the hallway. Seconds later they heard excited voices, and the front door closed.

Polly stopped talking and Laura asked, “Do you know her kids?”

“No,” said Polly, “I met her daughter once, she lives in Beverly Hills, but I’ve never even seen Asher.”

They all watched quietly as a tall man walked into the kitchen, carrying a large duffel bag, which he dropped on the floor with relief. This was his childhood home, realized Laura; this house was as familiar to him as her own family apartment was to her. She and the other tenants were interlopers, and Asher might not be completely on board. Maggie was right behind him, talking a mile a minute, and before long she dragged her son outside.

“Everyone,” she said, “this is Asher.”

Asher looked a great deal like his mother, the big brown eyes, the wavy dark hair, though in his case it was neatly cut. He also had the same wide mouth as Maggie, and it was clear he was as quick to smile as she was, despite his jet lag.

“Hey there,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about all of you.” He looked around. “I bet I can put names to faces . . .” His gaze came to rest on Polly, who was suddenly regretting putting on her pajamas. “You must be Polly.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. How could you tell?”

He laughed. “My mom’s good at descriptions.” He turned to the others. “You must be Libby”—Libby raised his glass—“which makes you two Bob and Anna.” He looked at Laura. “And you’re the new kid.” He had another important thing in common with his mother—her ability to make people feel welcome.

Laura smiled. “That’s right.”