Kiki rushed forward with the baby on her hip, the baby whose screams showed no signs of stopping and of course Sarah wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m so sorry,” said Kiki, through Sylvie’s screams, as she embraced Sarah with one arm and then began to laugh while hugging Matthew. “Oh my God,” Kiki cried, cracking up, and as she continued laughing, Sarah reflected on how, if their positions were reversed and it was Sarah with the screaming baby, Sarah’s laughter would have been out of embarrassment and discomfort, but Kiki’s seemed genuine. Her laughter seemed to acknowledge that her baby’s crying was so intense and insistent that it bordered on ridiculous and who were we as human beings if we couldn’t acknowledge how such a greeting of utter chaos, especially after so many years, was nothing if not funny?

“She’s beautiful,” Sarah said, because that’s what one said, but in this case it was true: the dark hair swept up in stylish whorls, the clear blue eyes all glassy with tears.

“Thank you.” Kiki bounced Sylvie around. “Oh, you cleaned up. Thank you—” Kiki called after Heather, who was already back inside the kitchen.

Sarah took up the tablecloth, started to shake it out.

“Stop. Please stop. You just arrived. Please. Just sit with me.” Kiki and the crying baby took the hammock, and Sarah pulled over one of the wicker chairs. “What happened with your—”

“Face? It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. I’m fine.”

“You look gorgeous as ever, you have somehow not aged, but—”

Sarah shook her head. “Stop. I mean, don’t worry, no one’s been beating me up.”

“I was gonna say,” Karim quipped, before roping Matthew into helping him with the boys, down by the creek.

The baby still cried and screamed, and when a sudden spell of silence began, Sarah realized Kiki was nursing under a voluminous blue-and-white wrap that brought to mind a prayer shawl.

“So,” Kiki said, after Karim and Matthew were out of sight, “you met Karim and Heather.”

“I did. And those kids?”

“Heather’s kids?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happened?”

“No, nothing.”

Kiki started laughing.

“What?” Sarah asked. “What?”

“You’re such a misanthrope.”

“I’m—excuse me?”

“No, I love that about you. I’m so happy you haven’t changed. It always made me feel special because I knew exactly how much you liked me.”

Sarah tried not to smile. “So we’re just skipping the chitchat? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I am.” Kiki nodded. “I’m saying let’s skip it.”

“Okay, so those kids are hellions,” Sarah said with a gust of laughter.

“They are not,” Kiki insisted, but she was also laughing, as if maybe Sarah was onto something. “They’re cute!”

“And their mother, your friend, she seems prickly.”

“Prickly?”

“Nice, maybe. But prickly, yes.”