“Because I listen, too, Bae.” I smiled at him and remembered the phrase about listening being the most basic forms of love. I put them on my ears.

“Tell me you did not give Elliott the satisfaction.”

“Nah. Lady Jane and I have actually developed a fairly cordial relationship. She isn’t keen on wearing the replacement wife’s earrings. By the way, they suit you, Bae.” He leaned in to kiss me.

“Thank you, Griffin.”

“Thank you, Bae. All of this, and the excitement of an opening night still awaits.”

Henry scowled at us when we walked in. “You picked a great time to be late. Here.” He thrust the new menu at us. I had already seen it. It was sublime. A creative tour de force. Henry’s generosity and talent was evident in the new menu. I knew some of the offerings were things he would’ve normally reserved for NOIR, like foie gras with saffron foam on a plate dusted with ramps and poached lobster salad with hearts of palms flown in fresh from Hawaii. The creativity reminded me of Elliott. I still thought of him, more often than I would’ve liked. But the weight of the emotional anchor of those thoughts dropped into increasingly shallower and calmer waters around the sea of my heart.

I allowed my eyes to scan the room one final time. I took pictures of the flowers Reggie and Elle sent and texted them to my girls. They sent back thumbs-up emojis. The crowd trickled in, and I smelled the familiar perfume: Annabel with her plus one, Mac.

For once, she did not greet me with a clever bon mot. Her face revealed everything. It pleased me. She embraced me as if seeing me for the first time. “Baby, Mac did not do you justice. This is amazing.” She took out her camera and then hugged me again. “I hope Griffin was appropriately appreciative of his gift!” She gave me a wink and, not missing anything, she pointed to my earlobes. “I see that man reciprocates appropriately.” She nodded approval.

“Where’s Mr. Monroe?”

“Tonight is the Georgia versus Auburn game. I couldn’t get his attention if I was standing naked in front of him. You’ll have to be content with my big brother.” I laughed. This Mr. Monroe still intrigued me.

“Hey, Mac, thanks for coming.” I leaned over and hugged him.

“I wouldn’t miss it. For the record, you look like more than two rungs up from Lily Bart,” he said—a reference to my domestic turbulence. In a conversation immediately after I had left New York, I had told him that I felt about two rungs up from Lily Bart in The House of Mirth. He had laughed at that.

“Just barely. There’s the little matter of our financial connection,” I said.

“Honey, what’s a huge retainer between friends?” Mac laughed easily.