“That does sound nice.” I nodded. “Though I still think her watch tattoo is pretentious.”

“It is a little bit pretentious,” Ros admitted. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Maybe it just wasn’t a good match,” Touchstone said, motioning for the peach rings. “You can’t force it.”

“No. I guess you can’t,” Ros said, passing him the bag of candy.

“I suspect one day someone is going to come along and knock you flat,” I said.

As I said it, I realized that of course I hoped that someone was me.

Still, this was a lot to get into with Phoebe, who was new to me as of that week.

“They’re single,” I started.

A casual smile broke over Phoebe’s face. “Cool,” she said. “Cool. And they’re…”

“Into women. At least so far.”

“Cool, cool,” Phoebe said, as though that was suddenly the only word at her disposal.

I thought of what it must be like to be Phoebe. All of this was going her way so far. Single, check, into women, check—in Phoebe’s mind, surely it was only a matter of time before she and Ros were shacked up somewhere in a country cottage, watering their tomato plants and harvesting kale for salads.

“The thing is,” I said, “I’m not sure they’re looking for anything serious. They’re kind of a… lone wolf.”

“Who’s a lone wolf?” said Touchstone. He’d appeared at our side, on his second can of poison.

“Ros,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, good, something new and different.”

“I’m sorry,” said Phoebe, furrowing her brow. “Who are you?”

“Andrew Touchstone, at your service,” he said, and gave a little bow. “I’m Celia’s first husband.”

“Touch and I got married on the kindergarten playground,” I said. “It didn’t last long.”

“Got it,” Phoebe said. “Thanks for telling me, Celia. About the lone wolf. I shouldn’t be surprised, anyway. I have horrible taste in people.”

“Same,” I said, and we both sighed heavily, looking off into Ros’s direction.

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be serious,” Phoebe said finally.

“Totally!” I said, as though I, too, were a person who was totally capable of being casual and light instead of a person who drew up contracts and pinned up a chore wheel.

“Celia, do you want me to introduce you to anyone? Or Andrew? There are some single guys here.…”

“That’s okay,” said Touch. “I’m straight, actually.”

“Oh! I’m sorry—I don’t know why I assumed.…”

“Trust me, you’re not the first,” said Touch. “That honor would go to my brothers, who believe that anyone involved in theater must be queer.”

“They sound charming,” said Phoebe.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Touch.

“I’m good on intros,” I said. “Good luck.”

Phoebe took a fortifying gulp of seltzer and headed across the way to Ros.