“When’s the last time you tried to rent an apartment?” Kiki sped up again.

“Why does everyone talk to me like I don’t know anything?”

Sarah could have sworn she heard Kiki stifle a laugh.

“Are you laughing?”

“No. I’m not.” It was true: she didn’t look amused. “Sarah.”

“What?”

“You have never really worked.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve never worked.”

Sarah felt her face go hot. Her eyes started to itch. “Do you have any idea what it takes to make a film?”

“That’s not what I’m talking ab—”

“Plus, I teach.”

“Okay.” Kiki shook her head. “But you know what I mean.”

Sarah gritted her teeth. She felt the enamel scraping.

“I’m not saying you’re not talented and extremely compelling. I’m saying—”

“So,” Sarah interrupted, “I know I don’t know anything about how your life has been.” She stopped walking and Kiki did, too. “Just like,” Sarah said, against her better judgment, “you don’t know about mine. And I know”—Sarah hesitated—“I know I’m really bad at keeping in touch.” She shook her head. “You’re so good at it.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“What? You are good at it.”

“I really, really hate when people say that. It’s like saying someone is good at making small talk. No one likes to make small talk—”

“Who said anything about small talk?”

“People make small talk to be polite. And being polite is about making other people feel comfortable.”

“Who’s talking about being polite?”

“I am.” Kiki suddenly sounded furious. “I am talking about it. Is that okay with you?”

Sarah nodded.

“I am talking about the fact that no one is good at keeping in touch. It’s not a skill like playing the piano or drawing. People either need one another and care enough to take the time to express that need or they don’t.”

“But—”

“What?”

Sarah sat down on a rock.

“What? I tried keeping in touch with you because you were my best friend. Did you know that? That when I was in my late twenties you were my best friend? Does that sound immature to you? My best friend. Like I was in seventh grade?”

“No,” sputtered Sarah, “no, of course not—”

“When you blew me off for the—who could keep track?—eighth time? I finally got the point.”

Sarah wanted to throw her arms around Kiki and beg her forgiveness. Sarah wanted to tell her everything. “But I didn’t,” Sarah said instead. “I didn’t blow you off.”

“Yes, you did. And that’s okay. I mean, now it is. For some reason that still isn’t fully clear to me, I just had to let you know about Sylvie. And I wanted to see you again, I really did, but—”

“I’m so glad you did. I’m so grateful you got in touch—”