I’d been grateful and comforted. But now, uneasiness sweeps through me as I listen to her talk. Maybe it’s taking me a while to work up to the worst of my to-do list, but right now, sitting here with Sibby, one of the items on it becomes crystal clear.

“Sib,” I say.

“Yeah?” Her wingless eyes are guileless as she looks at me, maybe some slight surprise that I’ve interrupted her. This morning, and last night, too, she’s the old Sibby. Not distant, not polite. Vibrant and bold and big-talking, ready for anything, as though the last few months never happened.

I clear my raspy throat.

“Do you think it’s easier to . . . to be friends with me, when it’s this way? When I need you more, I mean. Do you think . . .” I stir listlessly at my oatmeal, trying to think of the right way to put this. “Do you think we maybe learned to be friends this way, and then when it wasn’t so . . .”

I trail off again, but I’m not trying to be indirect. I just know that Sibby’s thinking of all the same things I am, all the ways our friendship was formed and forged according to who we were when we were so, so young. Me on that bus with my Pepto-Bismol, nervous to be away from home, and her at a new school, ready to assert herself as strong and in control. Me on the threshold of an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, needing a new home, and her settling into one, eager to be the city expert to one person, at least.

Me now, and her now.

There’s a long pause.

“I don’t know, Meg. Maybe.”

I nod. It isn’t a definitive answer, but it’s an honest one. For both of us, probably.

“But if it is true,” she says, “then we ought to change it. We ought to learn to be friends a different way. Because I love you, and I miss you so much.”

My eyes well with tears. “Me too, Sib.”

Sibby scoots closer to me and for a while we sit quietly, her side pressed up against mine while I force myself to eat. The to-do list looms, and my heart is still broken. But maybe a tiny bit less so now. Maybe Sibby and I are strong enough to form and forge something new. To change.

“Okay, though,” she says. “The second phone line was a good idea.”

I snort. “It was. I’ll call after I’m finished eating.”

And I think we both feel pretty glad that we don’t have to do all the changing today.