Heather nodded, gave a shrug. “It’s the Karim show.”

Karim laughed. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Shh,” hissed Heather, nodding toward the kids across the room. “It means, you know, Karim decides.”

He was shaking his head, laughing. “Please.” He stopped laughing. “We all decide. Some folks just decide some crazier shit. No he no she but they? They is going to the store? Really, now? They is?”

“They are,” said Heather. “They are. Are. It’s a plural conjugation. We’ve gone over this.”

“Do you even know anyone who’s gender nonbinary? Either of you?”

“That’s not the point,” said Heather.

“Who’s to say who anyone else is?” Sarah found herself saying out loud.

“Right?” said Heather, sizing Sarah up with what felt like newfound respect.

“I mean,” Sarah continued, “I can be really judgmental, trust me, but if a person has the wherewithal to decide who they are and what they want to be called, well, have at it and, I mean—congratulations. You know who you are? Seriously? Godspeed.”

Karim laughed. Even though Sarah agreed with Heather, she liked him better.

Karim and Heather moved on to discussing when they should get the boys off the iPad, and just how much, exactly, exposure to technology did or didn’t shape a child’s personality, which had essentially the same effect on Sarah as a conversation about cars. She wondered if Kiki was as engaged as she appeared.

Sarah leaned over to Matthew and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Matthew nodded.

Then he went from sulkily drinking and flipping through the magazine to making a convincing show of being helpful. Before Sarah could bring herself to start chopping the remaining pile of herbs, Matthew had filled a pot with water. The banter of Karim, Heather, and Kiki grew indistinct, buzzing, as suddenly all that mattered was getting Matthew to look at her. She needed further acknowledgment from him, she wasn’t exactly sure why, but without it she felt unmoored. She was trying to be patient, but when she couldn’t hold back anymore, she mouthed, I’M SORRY, the words overenunciated with an aggressive display of eye contact.

The stove’s pilot light had gone out and Karim had been unsuccessful in relighting it, and now Heather was trying and failing, and—while clearly not French—crying out, “Merde,” as if fulfilling Sarah’s unspoken request for just one more example of what constitutes an annoying person. When Matthew took over, he used his Zippo lighter, the one he still carried though he’d quit smoking years ago.

“That’s great that Sylvie fell asleep again so quickly,” Sarah offered stiffly to Kiki.