They laughed more, though Lauren had to pull hard to get enough air. “I hope her birthday cake turns rancid.”

“Want some pie, Sarah?” Josh asked, getting up and heading for the kitchen.

“Sure! Let me try yours and see if you’re a better baker than I am, in which case I must kill you.”

“Understood.”

Sarah trailed after him, chatting amiably, and a thought came to Lauren.

Sarah could be Josh’s second wife.

Since Lauren’s diagnosis, she’d seen a . . . maturing in her friend. Maybe that was something that happened to everyone who had to face terminal illness, their own or someone else’s. But while Sarah had always, always been her friend, Lauren knew she was competitive, always wanting to be the prettiest girl in the room, the smartest, the best dancer, whatever. The two of them had always planned to go to school on the Hill . . . Lauren had gotten into RISD via early decision and a rather smashing portfolio, but Sarah wasn’t accepted at Brown, despite her straight As. Instead, she’d taken the scholarship offered by the University of Rhode Island. Every time she visited Lauren and they walked around College Hill, Sarah was edgy and a little bitter.

When they graduated, Lauren got her dream job in interior and public space design. Pearl Churchwell Harris, Architects, was located in a beautiful old building on Benefit Street. Sarah got her master’s in social work and took a job with the Department of Children, Youth and Families, which was noble and draining and rewarding and depressing. The Lord’s work, Lauren said, but it took its toll. And, of course, Sarah wasn’t paid nearly enough, whereas Lauren earned enough to be able to find her own place almost immediately. Sarah had lived with her mom until last year.

Lauren wasn’t the comparison type; she was Jen’s little sister, so she’d learned humility early on. She happily accepted her position as second-best daughter (she was the founder of Jen’s fan club, after all). But she could tell that Sarah resented a lot of the surface things. If Lauren wore a new pair of shoes, Sarah’s hawkish eyes would spy them. If she bought anything new for her apartment, Sarah would immediately notice it, but not comment. Then there were the not-so-surface things—Sarah’s dad was a deadbeat idiot; Lauren had had the world’s best father. Sarah had a handful of half siblings she barely knew, courtesy of her father; Lauren had the greatest sister in human history.