Both she and Val give me a wide, hopeful smile.

“Of course I will!” I shriek, before pulling my friends into another big hug.

After we wipe away our tears, the three of us launch into Beyoncé’s “Cuff It,” one of Kiara’s favorite songs. We also do “Single Ladies,” of course, with my friends hyping me up whenever Beyoncé sings “single ladies” and waving their left hands in the air at “put a ring on it.”

At the end of the song, Val pulls Kiara into a sweeping, deep kiss, and I pop open another bottle of champagne.

When I was in college, I thought that by the time I turned thirty, I’d be living in the suburbs with my partner and kids. Drunkenly singing along to Chappell Roan and Beyoncé with my friends in a neon-light-decked trolley car speeding down the hills in San Francisco is like the exact opposite of that. But I’m so fucking happy, I don’t care.

My life isn’t what I thought it would be. But I’m loving it, regardless.

By the time we get off the car, the three of us are laughing and swaying on the sidewalk, with Val still humming the last couple of songs. It’s the most fun I’ve had in years.

Later that night, I get into my bed at Ms. Chang’s and check my phone, like I always do before going to sleep. A single unread notification waits for me on the screen, and I swipe it to reveal a text from Celeste.

Happy birthday, Gem.

A warm rush of emotions fills my chest, along with a sharp pang of bittersweet. After trying and failing to decide how to reply to her, I heart the message and hug my pillow tightly to my chest before drifting off to sleep.

38: Gemma

The next Monday, James, of all people, approaches my desk.

“Hey, hope you had a good birthday,” he says.

Regretting my decision to work through lunch, I keep my attention focused on my computer and my tuna sandwich, determined not to say a word to him.

“I was wondering,” he goes on, undeterred by my lack of a reaction. “Can I talk to you in private? Not now, obviously. But after work.”

I frown at just the thought of having a one-on-one conversation with him.

And then he asks me the question that makes my stomach recoil.

“Do you want to come over for some drinks? For old times’ sake.”

I stare at him with an open mouth. How does James even have the nerve to invite me for drinks at the condo that used to be our home?