Once I had recovered from my shock, I asked diplomatically, “Do you need help unpacking?”

“Oh, I’m not unpacking,” she said. “Unpacking would mean I’m staying here, and I am definitely not staying here.”

“What are—”

“Ugh, no,” Audrey said, covering her ears with her hands. “I absolutely do not want to talk about the problems with this place or my uninspiring apartment search. I’m taking the day off from it, and instead we’re having brunch in bed.”

“Brunch” turned out to be animal crackers, a container of slightly past-prime strawberries, a carton of orange juice, and two bottles of sparkling wine. I looked at the spread and laughed because we’d often enjoyed the exact same meal, also eaten in bed, while in college. To really drive that point home, Audrey set up her laptop at the end of her bed and put on a playlist full of our old favorite pop stars from college (Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Rihanna) and the older artists Audrey always played in our room (Blondie, the Talking Heads, David Bowie), cut through with the obscure indie bands she enjoyed. Between the nostalgic songs and the homemade mimosas, an onslaught of warm, fuzzy memories beset me: late-night “dance breaks” as we crammed for finals, getting ready for sorority formals together, clutching hands as we walked home from campus bars in the dark.

“Come stay with me,” I said impulsively. “My guest bedroom is all yours while you look for a new apartment. You shouldn’t stay someplace where you’re afraid.”

She groaned. “I told you, Cat, I don’t want to talk about this today.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make the situation go away. I hate the idea of someone looking at you through this window.”

Sighing heavily, she said, “You and me both. But, as far as I know, no one has been in the alley again. There have been some random scratches that have been freaking me out, but I think it’s just this mangy cat I keep seeing around the dumpster. I haven’t even had any problems with Ryan from upstairs lately. Honestly, the only thing getting to me now is my own imagination. Have I told you I’ve actually been waking myself up at night?” She tapped at her phone and tossed it to me. “Here, press ‘play’ and see what I mean.”

Obediently, I pressed the moon-shaped “play” button on the star-bedecked app open on Audrey’s phone. There was some static and then Audrey’s voice clearly said, “I’m scared,” followed almost immediately by a loud gasping noise.

I looked up with alarm. “What was that?”

“Exactly what I’m talking about,” she said wryly. “I’ve been scaring myself awake.”

“Then come stay with me,” I urged. “Audrey—”

Her phone buzzed in my hands, interrupting me. I looked down to see a text message from Nick: Tonight?

“Um, Nick wants you,” I said, handing the phone back to her.

She smirked and waggled her groomed brows suggestively. “You bet he does.”

Tongue loosened by the mimosas, I said, “I don’t understand what you’re doing with him. There was a reason the two of you broke up.”