I snicker. “Me neither. We deserve it.” I hold up my glass. “Cheers?” I say, and she clinks, smiling at me over the rim.

By our third glass, we’re giggly. “God, I forgot how fun this is, just hanging around people you actually like,” I say. We’re sprawled on her bed, our legs dangling off the end, like two teenage girls.

“Maybe that’s why I haven’t drunk in so long. I don’t like too many people.” She lies on her back and stares at the ceiling, at the fan hanging listlessly, its blades impatient to be in motion.

“You know, I feel like all we do is talk about me. I want to know more about you! Who’s your best friend? Who do you miss from Isham? You must miss somebody.” I see her lips rise in a tiny grin.

“My life’s been quite boring compared to yours.”

I shake my head. “No one as compassionate as you has led a boring life. I feel like you’ve done so much for me. I want to do something for you, too.” I scoot closer to her, the ends of my hair brushing her face.

“Oh, you’ve done plenty,” she says quietly, her face shining with drink. “But you know who I miss? I miss this one clerk at the grocery store. He would always put the items that needed refrigeration in a separate bag. He had this mustache that would quiver whenever he said, ‘Have a nice day!’ It was cute. No one is like that in the city. No one does you any favors. No one looks you in the eye.” She hands me my glass, which is sitting on the bedside table.

“Sounds like you had a crush,” I say, wriggling my eyebrows as I sit up, gulp down the last dregs of champagne. “Any other guys in your life?”

She blinks rapidly, as if she’s getting rid of an eyelash that’s fallen into her lid. “There was one, a long time ago. But it didn’t work out.” She turns to me. “How about you?”

I sigh. “Gavin, the friend I saw before this, he’s been my most consistent...thing. Sometimes, in my super romantic moments, I think we’re meant to be together. Like soul mates. I haven’t been able to shake him since we were teenagers.” I reach over and place the glass back on the table.

“But I was pretty mean to him last time we hung out. He told me I was obviously unwell, that I should really commit to some form of therapy. I told him he had no right to have a say in my life, since he was wasting his away doing art that no one would ever want or appreciate. It was really cruel. And untrue. He’s really talented.” I lie facedown now, burrowing my head in a pillow.