We all sit silently with that for a moment.

“I’m stumped,” I say.

“Drink more,” Rufus urges.

“Lanie,” Meg says, “you’re a good navigator. I mean, look at you. You have this baller job, editing one of the most famous writers in the world.”

“Who also happens to be your literary idol,” Rufus adds, while I nod and muster my cheeriest fake smile.

“You have us, two of the dopest friends in all of New York,” Meg continues, “and you have this little thing called resilience. Don’t laugh, Rufus. I’m being sincere. I’ve seen it in you ever since you showed up at Peony at age baby-twenty-two. It means you’re not going to feel this way for long. It means you’ll bounce back stronger than ever. It means that, ultimately, you’ll get what you want. I can look at you and know you already know that. Tell me you know it?”

I shrug. “I guess. Maybe.”

“Someday soon, this ring is just going to be a ring, a piece of jewelry from a different era of your life. No more, no less.”

It’s hard to imagine a time when seeing this ring won’t make me want to hibernate in a cave of regret, but I might as well make it a goal.

As two servers appear to set down our bounty of brunch, I close the clamshell and put the ring into my purse, making room for better things, like thick-sliced, perfectly golden French toast topped with fried chicken.

“Have you told BD?” Rufus asks, tucking into the French dip.

Rufus and BD are g-chat friends; they first clicked years ago over their shared obsession with Apple events. It’s unfathomable to me how many rounds they can go debating whether the new generation of iPhone is worth the price increase.

“Not yet,” I say. “I want to get my head on straight about it first.”

“My nainai always loved it when I broke up with someone,” Meg says, a pickle in one hand, prosecco in the other. This is her natural state. “She called it ‘clearing the chaff.’ ”

“Okay, your nainai sounds terrifying,” Rufus says, “and BD is not going to say that to Lanie.” He looks at me. “But she is probably going to want you to get back into the saddle soon.”

I drown the thought of dating in more prosecco. “I don’t see how I can do that. Now that my Ninety-Nine Things list failed me, I have no idea where to start with someone new.”

Meg snorts. Rufus puts a hand over his mouth.

“What? What are you laughing at?” I say.

“It’s called chemistry,” Rufus says. “You just get on board with it. It’s really not that hard.”

“Says the man who has been patiently waiting for Brent from Pilates World to break up with his partner for . . . how many years now?” I ask.

“Because we have chemistry!” Rufus says.