She raised her eyebrows in annoyance but said nothing more. They walked over the stones of Prospect Park West. The streetlights came on early, set for fall, wasting electricity. She pictured the months to come; she hoped for the same changes as always. She pictured phone calls, relief, the smell of burning leaves. This weekend she would say to Kiki, My phone is an actual appendage, and Kiki would be ready to commiserate about technology and how it spiritually breaks us down or fucks us up, and then—midsentence—Kiki would realize what Sarah had meant. What it felt like to wait for a phone call; the one that had to come but didn’t come.

But.

To be in a car with Matthew on a highway going somewhere in the name of fun. To see Kiki and Arman after so many years. She took Matthew’s hand and held on tight. She admonished herself to be grateful. We’re reconnecting with friends, she thought, as she took his arm. Will you please stay focused on this welcome surprise?

“So,” she said, “when are we leaving?”

“Aren’t we going tomorrow morning?”

“Well, that’s how I left it when I hung up the phone. But Kiki being Kiki said to come whenever.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I guess it means we could drive up tonight if we’re feeling inspired. She did seem genuinely relaxed about it.”

“You always thought Kiki was so relaxed.”

“That’s because she was.”

“Okay, so she was the most relaxed person I’d ever met, you’re right. But that was a long time ago. They have a baby now. I’m sure she’s not relaxed and I’m sure they need to know when we’re coming.”

“I can’t believe they have a baby.”

He didn’t say anything.

She silently counted to five.

“After so many years of not having and not wanting one,” she continued. “They really didn’t want a baby. Do you remember? So they changed their minds. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It happens, doesn’t it? I mean, more often than not, people end up changing their minds.”

“I guess.”

“What?”

“No, I guess I just assumed it was an accident; they’re younger than us, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Sarah said. “By a few years, they are.”

“What’s funny?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re grinning.”

“Am I?”

“What?”

“No, it’s just that it hadn’t occurred to me that it was an accident.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know—her tone of voice? That she seems really, crazily happy?”

He nodded vaguely. Sarah felt him disappear. Even though this happened often enough, she was always unprepared.

“Maybe they tried to have a baby for ages. What would we know?” She heard her voice rise and fall, catching on a jag in the center of her throat as if she’d swallowed a pit. “Eight years was a lifetime ago.”