“I didn’t recognize it as yours.” Kiki said to Matthew, “I didn’t recognize her in it,” as if this were something over which they might relate.

Matthew, smart man, didn’t reply.

“Well,” Sarah said, “it wasn’t my script. You know that, right? I was hired to direct it.”

“I just didn’t feel you in it at all.”

“Even if it’s not your script, it’s still your film,” Arman added. “I mean, don’t you think? Shouldn’t it—theoretically at least—have your stamp?”

“Did you see it, too?” Sarah asked him.

“No. You asked us not to watch it. But theoretically—”

“Theoretically?”

“Sure, theoretically. Theoretically, it’s your film.”

“Okay,” said Sarah. “Sure.”

“It was just amazing to me that you directed it,” said Kiki.

“So if you didn’t see my stamp … is that a compliment because it’s such a bad film or…” Sarah let out a brittle laugh. “I can’t tell.”

“You know what,” Matthew said carefully, “I think…”

Was he going to actually try answering not only for her but also for Kiki?

Then Sarah saw that Matthew looked distracted or maybe even worse, and she knew there was more going on. “I think,” Matthew repeated slowly, “I—”

“You think what?”

Matthew looked right at Sarah, as if no one else were there. “I think I might have to go lie down.”

“Oh?” She erupted into hollow laughter.

Matthew looked at her and then at Kiki and Arman. “I’m just suddenly really exhausted.”

“Is this about before?” Sarah asked.

“Before?” Matthew’s tone was somewhere between aggressive and genuinely confused.

“Yesterday. Because I’m going to,” Sarah said quietly. “I told you I will.”

“You guys,” said Kiki uncomfortably, “maybe you want to take a walk or something?”

Arman stood up. “My God”—he looked at Kiki with naked exasperation—“you’re so afraid of confrontation.”

“Don’t raise your voice,” Kiki said.

“I’m not raising my voice. All I’m saying is, let them fight a little. Let them air their bullshit. We have ours. They have theirs. People don’t always need to get along. Everything doesn’t have to be okay. And they know that. They understand that. And that’s why they’ll be fine.”

“Fine seems pretty relative.”

“Fine is pretty relative.”

Kiki stood and picked up Sylvie. “I’m going to put her down. I don’t want her hearing all this.”

“She’s eight months old,” cried Arman. “She’s hearing noise.”

“It’s upsetting her. I can tell. She understands more than you think she does.”

“I was raised in a house where no one ever spoke in a neutral tone of voice. Everyone yelled. Everyone yelled all the time!”

“Well, I don’t love that paradigm. Sorry, it’s not 1975.”

And Kiki left the room with beloved and hard-won Sylvie Jane Simonian. Bless her, Sarah thought. Please. Bless her and keep her safe.