“You’re thinking Papua New Guinea. No, the Galápagos Islands are off the coast of Ecuador in South America. You know… Darwin? Finches? Giant tortoises?”

“Ahhh yes. Okay, got it.” She fiddles with the slim gold necklace tucked into her shirt, but then her head snaps up. “Can I come?”

I was afraid of this. “No. It’s a work trip. And look, if you’re planning on staying in Seattle for any length of time, you need to focus on finding a job. Maybe even two jobs, if you want to make ends meet until you figure out something more permanent.”

“We’ll see. I still have to finish my yoga training.”

I open my mouth to speak. Close it. I desperately want to lecture her about, I don’t know, being a halfway credible adult? But then the tear tracks on her cheek stop me and I’m reminded why she’s here. She needs me.

I smile and hope it doesn’t look too forced. “We’ll start job hunting tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” She pushes to her feet. Even though her legs are wobbly, she’s already regaining some of her old Walsh swagger. “I could sure use that drink now.”

Straightening my skirt, I stand with a nod. “Me too.”

4

Michelle’s pregnant!”

Tory’s big news. A piercing collective of squeals and exclamations meets her pronouncement that’s quickly swallowed by the bar’s noisy chatter.

“Oh my God, you’re going to be moms? You’re going to be moms! Congratulations!” I jump out of my chair and round the small circular table to give Tory, then Michelle, a squeeze.

Returning to my chair, I swirl the ice cubes around my empty glass. We’ve been here barely an hour but I’m on my second drink and I already need another one. Christina echoes my congrats. “I had no idea you guys went ahead with the IVF.”

“We were going to wait until I made partner at the firm,” says Michelle, pushing a tight coil of black hair behind her ear before threading her fingers with Tory’s on top of the table. “But we found a donor we liked. We went for it, and it took.”

Walsh shoves to her feet. “This calls for a round of shots!” I’ve never heard a baby announcement met with shots before, but okay.

She turns to me. “Henley, a hand?” I sigh. This must be all part of the fun-loving, crazy Walsh mask she’s fastened into place for the evening.

Threading through the crowd to the bar, we squeeze into a spot next to a raucous mix of young professionals and a pair of older women. All the barstools are occupied, so we stand.

“What’s eating you?” asks Walsh as we rest our elbows on the smooth wooden surface, waiting for one of the bartenders to acknowledge our presence.