Maggie looked up at him. “You’re staying for dinner?”

“My flight doesn’t leave until 6:00 a.m. tomorrow. So, yeah, I’m staying.”

A few days before it came to pass, I dreamed I was having dinner with Cal, Sid, and Maggie on Sid’s porch. I didn’t recall the dream until I was at the table, and then it hit me as hard as Cal’s fist in my face. Specifically, I remembered Cal sitting across from me with a bottle of Big Sky IPA in his hand, leaning back so far in the wrought-iron chair he was on that its two front legs were a foot off the ground, and I worried he was going to tumble backward. I remembered Sid cutting his steak into unusually small pieces like he always did, chewing slowly as he told Cal about the writing workshop, and Cal pointing at me with his beer, saying, “I better be a hot topic in this class, or we’re breaking up for good.” And before it happened, I knew Maggie was going to ask Cal to take a photo with her so that her friends would believe he was really there. But that’s where real life strayed from the dream, because instead of posing for a picture, Cal took Maggie’s phone, switched it from camera to video, and serenaded her with the entire first verse of Rod Stewart’s “Maggie Mae” while she giggled and blushed.

“Congratulations,” he said after he handed the phone back to her. “You just won Instagram for the day.”

After dinner we had huckleberry ice cream and played a board game called Taboo. The object was to get your teammate to guess a word on a card within a limited amount of time, but there were five other words on the card you couldn’t say to trigger them to guess the main word. Cal and I played against Sid and Maggie, and our ability to finish each other’s sentences, coupled with all the inside jokes we shared, made us unbeatable. For example, during the first round, Cal pulled the word “tofu.” He couldn’t say “meat,” “bean,” “curd,” “Japanese,” or “healthy.” He didn’t have to. Sophomore year there had been a kid in our class who played bass like a boss, and we let him join our band for three days. Everyone in school called him Tofu because his family was vegan, which theoretically wasn’t an issue for me or Cal. But after Tofu lectured us on the hazards of dairy products while I was making mac and cheese for dinner one night, Cal fired him, claiming that the burden of touring the world with a guy who was prejudiced against cheese would be too great to bear.

When Cal saw the card, all he had to say was “Tommy Preston,” and I immediately said, “tofu.”

We were playing to fifteen points, and when the score was 14 to 5 in our favor, I pulled a card, rolled my eyes, and said, “This isn’t even fair.” Cal looked at me and I said, “Your mom used to call us this,” and he said, “Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.”