Or maybe it’s the reverse. Everything is already in place and the sex seals the deal. You’re meant to be together, first passionate lovers, then companions. One of those rare one-night stands that is ceaseless as though the physical connection makes all the rest possible, when really the emotional, mental connection made the physical possible. Maybe they knew that from their first glance. A fall in love at first sight that transcends the hassles, and just as ziplessly moves through the decades. So the connection, the communication, and an instinctual awareness and appreciation of the other’s space are present from the beginning. The intimacy nuances and the sweet domesticity made the routine a joy.

A few days later she called, a new ecstasy mixed with peace in her voice. “This was different. Oh, my God,” she said with a sigh, “different than anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“So he’s really great?”

“Great, yeah, but that’s not what I mean. The sex wasn’t just sex. It was … We transported each other someplace else. Someplace I’ve never been. It was beyond sexual, it was … spiritual. Like we were part of the universe. Everything was one and we were part of it.”

I laughed. “What were you two smoking?”

“Nothing. Just each other.”

I didn’t know what she meant. Not then. I learned later. Meanwhile, Tracy’s love for him also made her fascinated by his interests, and she discovered her vocation. Silver was a sound technician for rock bands. Tracy’s buoyancy and grin, energy and ability to organize, the many musicians and artists she met through the music scene, gave her the idea to become a rock producer. Now she and Silver go on tours together. He does the sound, she does the production. It seems glamorous from the outside: six months all over the world, a new family each year in the road crew of people working together. Tokyo, Chicago, Sydney, Montreal, Paris, Madrid, Seoul, Nairobi, Los Angeles, Rio. I get postcards from all over the world stamped with Tracy’s lip prints as she presses a kiss to me. Sometimes that’s all I receive. A picture of a naked David from Florence and her trademark pink glossy lips.

“So. You’d think they’d be tired of traveling and would stay here for the holidays,” Rosie says.

“They’re using up frequent flyer miles,” I answer. “Besides, that’s work. This is vacation.”

“Well, let’s start,” Laurie says.

Everyone sits down, and I pass out Tracy’s cookies. “Hmmm. Tracy wanted me to tell you how she wished she could be here. She made these before she left and put them in these canisters.” The boxes are covered in paste paper with red swirls making a scarlet sea of ripples, flashed with bits of gold leaf.