They settled against the pockmarked stone wall of the alley, waiting for the others. Of the seven members of their group of medical school friends, only Zadie and Emma had been unable to make the trip. Their absence sent a small dart of loss across Hannah’s chest; she’d been longing to see them. As if reading Hannah’s mind, Georgia remarked, “I know Emma can’t come because her hospital is short a couple trauma surgeons right now. I forgot why Zadie said she couldn’t come.”

“Her kids.”

“That’s right. It’s hard to go anywhere when you’ve got five hundred kids.”

“Four,” Hannah said. “It’s only four kids. Her oldest, Rowan, is getting a big award for raising money for the Charlotte library.”

A fond expression etched itself across Georgia’s face. “You are so good at remembering everyone’s details, HannahBear.”

Zadie had the most children, but the friends were, overall, a fertile group; only Hannah and Georgia were childless. Emma had a little son, and Kira had both a boy and a girl. Compton and Vani each had three kids. Hannah had saved all the videos her friends sent in the years following medical school. She enjoyed seeing the attributes of her girlfriends—their physical features and endearing quirks—in smaller, newer forms.

Georgia took a sudden step forward. “I think I see them.”

The street containing their apartment opened at one end to a bustling intersection of traffic and on the other end to a warren of ancient cobblestone alleys. Alighting from a taxi at the edge of the road, Kira, Vani, and Compton edged into view; Kira paid the driver as Compton hoisted a couple of bags from the trunk. As the taxi sped off, their heads swiveled in unison, taking in the narrow pedestrian passageway and the hordes of people and the strings of fairy lights crisscrossing the alley above their heads. Georgia jumped up and down, waving her arms, her hair going vertical in a flaming tower above her forehead. “¡Hola, chicas frikis!” she yelled.

Predictably, everyone in the vicinity turned. At the sight of Kira, Vani, and Compton, a ripple of visible alarm worked its way through the tour group of old people, who’d stalled out a few feet away. “There is more of them,” one wit advised everyone in German-accented English. “Take cover.”