I didn’t point out the irony in her logic that she was encouraging me to slack off on my assignments in order to celebrate her newly acquired work ethic. Instead, I said, “Let’s have that bottle this weekend. Right now, I’m staring at a draft of a filing that’s due on Friday and—”

“Friday?” she repeated. “That’s four whole days away! Come on, Cat. Please? Celebration is nonoptional, and I can’t do it alone. Meet me after work at Le Diplomate for a drink, okay? Just one, I promise.”

My resolve crumbled. I knew how much Audrey hated being on her own. If I was a good friend, I should do what I could to spare her that discomfort. After all, she had always looked out for me. From that first day in the dorm’s common room to that awful Bid Day to any number of times Audrey had made sure I was included, she always took care of me. She was a good friend, the best friend. The least I could do was have a drink with her.

HOURS LATER, I felt guilty as I hurried uptown. I’d gotten stuck on a conference call, and Audrey hadn’t responded to my texts telling her I was running late. I imagined her sitting alone at the bar, glasses of champagne quickly losing their carbonation in front of her.

I should have known better.

When I stepped through the doors of the bustling French bistro, I glanced instinctively toward the bar but didn’t see Audrey’s vibrant hair. My stomach sank; I was too late. I scanned the rest of the room quickly, and there she was: seated in a corner booth with two glamorous women with impossibly perfect makeup, and a man in round tortoiseshell glasses who had his arm thrown around her. They were talking animatedly, each of them clutching a cocktail glass. One of the women lifted her drink in a toast, and, over the din of the restaurant, I heard her say in a British accent, “To Audrey!”

“Hi! How many are in your party?” the hostess asked me.

I stared at the hostess dumbly. I didn’t know whether I should join Audrey’s group or whether I should turn around and walk out. Audrey obviously didn’t need me. I was a fool to think she ever did.

“Miss?” the hostess pressed.

“I’m just—” I began, backing away.

“Cat!” Audrey shouted suddenly, half standing and waving me over.

I felt impossibly unhip as I walked over to their table, suddenly very aware of the coffee stain on my faded Brooks Brothers shirt and the fact that my eyes were red and bleary from reviewing documents all day. I reached up to pat my hair into place and found a pen stuck behind my ear. Blushing furiously, I shoved it into my bag.

“Hi,” I said, forcing brightness as I approached the table. “Sorry, I got stuck at work, and—”

“Here,” Audrey said, grabbing a martini glass filled with pink liquid from the table and pushing it into my hand. “Catch up.”