We’re several seconds into utter silence when she says, “If this is happening, I need coffee.” She hops up and grabs her purse and keys from off the coffee table. “Will Duke be okay if we run out for a few minutes or do you think he’ll ransack the place?”

I get up to check on him and find him already asleep on Maggie’s bathroom tiles. Celine wasn’t even necessary.

“We can go but we have to be quick. There aren’t any choking hazards around here, are there?” I quickly look around to double-check, but Maggie is surprisingly minimalistic besides her multiple instruments. Knowing Duke will be safe, I set an alarm on my phone for twenty minutes. “Okay, let’s go.”

A few blocks later, Maggie and I are sitting across from each other in Frisson Espresso, Maggie’s favorite coffee house, on 46th Street. The charming shop is on the smaller side, but the white walls and colorful art make it feel chic and cozy rather than crowded and claustrophobic.

Two baristas man the lone espresso machine, creating individualized coffee that doubles as art. My mocha latte has a tulip foam design that is so intricate, it seems wrong to drink. It’s too late to know if Maggie’s iced coffee had a foam design since she’s essentially inhaling it.

We snag seats in the corner and even though the table next to ours is nearly on top of us, we’re comfortable. I take my first sip as Maggie finally comes up for air and places her coffee onto the table.

“Okay, I am now properly caffeinated. Speak.”

I suddenly wish I was drinking wine instead of a latte. “Well, like I said, I think I may still have feelings for Ryan and I need you to help me make those feelings go away as quickly as possible.”

“Yeah,” Maggie says, seeming unmoved. “I’m going to go ahead and not participate in any of that.”

“Why not? You have to help me. This is bad.”

“Why is it bad?”

“It’s bad because our past has way too much baggage, plus I’m not even sure if he’s interested in me or he’s just using me for my couch.”

“Are we back at this again? Of course he’s interested in you, Kara. How did he act this morning?” She picks up her coffee and twists it around, swirling the ice inside the cup.

I sit back in my chair. “He was fine.”

“But what was he like?”

“He was normal.” Then quietly, “He made pancakes.”

Deep silence ensues.

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. Can you repeat that one more time?”

I pick at the edge of my cup with the tip of my finger. “I said he made pancakes.”