THE SUMMER LEDA TURNED FIVE, Matthew found a garden apartment that shared its outdoor space with neighbors because the fence between the yards had been destroyed during a hurricane. Sarah had just finished shooting the second film, the studio film she was hired to direct, which she already knew was terrible. She wasn’t in the greatest mood. They signed a year lease without meeting the neighbors, who were away for the month, and hoped they (a) wouldn’t be crazy and (b) wouldn’t mind that Leda rose at 6:00 a.m., desperate to run outside. Several weeks after Leda had colonized the backyard with her assorted dolls and their accompanying castles and ballet schools and hospitals and movie theaters, the neighbors returned from their trip and introduced themselves that same night with a bottle of limoncello. After learning they’d come from Rome, where Arman had had a small part in his first movie and the two of them had taken the rest of the month to travel, Sarah marveled at how they’d had the energy to be friendly after a transatlantic flight; she would never have managed to be so polite, so social. This was how the friendship took root: Arman and Kiki were always better behaved; they always led the way. When Arman emerged from the apartment, he was usually fresh from a shower and a shave. He remembered to drag Sarah and Matthew’s garbage to the curb if they forgot, and Kiki cooked but it didn’t even seem that she was cooking. What are you making? I don’t know, I’m just slicing these sweet potatoes really thinly. What will you do with them? I’m not sure. And they’d be sautéed and served along with exotic greens and cheeses and there’d be bread and wine and Leda would taste everything, eat slowly in a way she rarely did with anyone else. Kiki was a public high school art teacher. Sarah remarked how Kiki’s students must adore her. She and Arman both played with Leda—not only patiently but with engagement—and didn’t seem to mind the collection of plastic toys inevitably strewn around their cool, childless area of the garden with its mod thrift-store table and chairs and heavy marble ashtray. Sarah had imagined they were interested in having kids one day, but a week into their friendship Kiki offered up her disinterest in motherhood in the same guileless manner that she prepared meals. Sarah found this disarming and felt a surge of affection toward Kiki, a sensation that may have stopped short of sexual attraction but was easily as primal. Sarah could be (she knew) a bit easy-come-easy-go about friends, but she recognized that her feelings were not remotely neutral toward this person. Her immediate attachment to Kiki took her by surprise, but she didn’t question that Kiki felt the same way. Maybe because of this deep and unfamiliar certainty, Sarah finally stopped apologizing for the mess, for not cooking, for Leda’s singing at the top of her lungs with tremendous cheer as if she were auditioning for Disney or pretending to be a dog for hours at a time. Sarah stopped insulting her work on the studio film, stopped insisting the only reason her first film had been any good was because Matthew had been the DP. She stopped making self-deprecating remarks about how she’d been pregnant at Sundance when her first film premiered, so each photo of her was a fat photo, and how she’d been no fun. She stopped making dark jokes about how young she’d been when she’d found herself pregnant with Leda.