The eight of us slip through the employees-only room in the back of the bar, into the stairwell, and up six flights of winding, concrete stairs. When Raj pushes open the heavy door to the roof, we’re greeted by a dusty blue dusk sky and a sultry late-summer night. The still-warm air is thick with possibilities. Raj has two pitchers of beer, a few of my friends are holding stacks of glasses, and I have Sophie’s sunflowers clutched to my chest. There’s a jaw-dropping view of the Brooklyn Bridge and the lower Manhattan skyline across the East River; when I get close enough to the edge of the roof, I can see my own building just across the street. There are glittering lights and other rooftop gatherings as far as the eye can see.

Raj knows Carmen, of course, but this is the first time he’s meeting the others. I want to jump in to introduce everyone, but it turns out I don’t need to. He’s at ease with the group. He introduces himself to Sasha, who writes about dating and relationships for Esquire, and her best friend, Caroline, who has a sweet writing gig on Law & Order: SVU. Sasha lives just a few blocks from me, but we haven’t seen each other that much since I launched Brooklyn Jewels, other than accidentally crossing paths while getting breakfast at Bagelsmith’s a few times. I feel guilty about that. She was amazingly helpful when I was getting over Holden for the first (and second . . . and third) time.

I lay the sunflowers down along with my purse, grab one of the pitchers from Raj, and start filling glasses to pass out to the group. Carmen digs a speaker out of her bag, and soon a smooth electronic beat turns the gathering into a real party.

“Shouldn’t someone make a toast?” Sophie asks.

She’s not drinking tonight, but she’ll always look out for me, like a big sister should.

“Yeah, a toast!” Liv echoes.

She at least has seen her fair share of breakup parties and divorce celebrations.

“Cheers to Eliza!” Carmen announces. “Cheers to my most brilliant, beautiful friend, who works harder than all of us combined every single day to make her dreams come true . . . and . . . and . . .”

I think she falters because she’s trying to spin the reason for this party—my newfound single status—into something that doesn’t sound terribly depressing. It’s hard.

“And cheers to you being single,” Raj interjects, raising his glass and looking directly at me, “because now we can commiserate while swiping through Tinder together.”

“I’m down to cheer you on, but I don’t exactly think I’m in any condition to date,” I say, dramatically gesturing at my mad scientist hair and puffy eyes. “I look like a real catch right now, don’t I?”

“Come on, you look great,” Raj says.