“Actually, I’ve been watching this documentary. Josh, you’d love it. It’s about this plastic surgeon in India who does really extreme cases. Like, there was a little girl who had two noses, I shit you not.”

“Wow,” Josh said. It was right up his alley.

“And there was this other guy who had warts all over his body that made him look like his hands were the roots of trees.”

“Tree Man! I saw that one,” he said.

“Wasn’t that incredible?”

“Here we go!” announced the chirpy server, and Sarah was right. She had a bright, birdlike quality about her, like a chickadee, interested and energetic and . . . fluttery, somehow. “Let me know if everything is to your satisfaction.”

“Stay right there,” Sarah ordered, cutting her filet in half. She inspected the middle, which was pink, then pressed her finger against it. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

“Enjoy!” She flitted off again. Yes. A chickadee. He always liked those birds, their bright black eyes and intelligence.

“How’s your mom?” Sarah asked, and that was easy to talk about, because his mom had just been to Sedona with Sumi and had funny stories of the lady who did yoga buck naked. Well, it was funny when Steph told it. Not so much now, he guessed. He wasn’t great at delivery. Or Sarah wasn’t amused.

They talked about their families, Jen’s new baby. “Where did she come up with the name Leah? Is that a family name? I always think of Princess Leia.”

“Well, what a great role model, right?” Josh said. “I don’t know how she picked it.” He took a bite of salmon, wishing he’d ordered something else, then remembered a random fact. “If you’re Jewish, sometimes you give a baby a name that starts with the same letter as a person in your family who died.” While Octavia’s middle name was Lauren (and how Lauren had loved that), Josh now wondered if Jen had thought of that tradition when picking out her second daughter’s name.

“They’re not Jewish, though, right? Darius isn’t, is he?”

“They go to Blessed Sacrament. I don’t know if Darius was raised—”

“Miss?” called Sarah. “The asparagus? Thanks!” She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry. I wanted to catch her before we got too far into the meal. You were saying?”

“I think . . . it doesn’t matter.”

She was Lauren’s friend. She was hardworking and loyal. She was funny (sometimes). She was very particular about food and treated the waitstaff poorly. She smelled nice. She was attractive and healthy.

But he wasn’t feeling it. Give it a chance, he told himself. Lauren wouldn’t have suggested this if it was too far off.

The asparagus came. “How are we liking everything?” the server asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Sarah said. “We haven’t had a chance to eat the asparagus.”