“Olivia might need me, and, well, Brian might call.” Laurie pats her waist, indicating her cell phone.

I can’t help but touch mine. Still quiet. Still no call from Sky.

“And I really want to give everyone their cookies.” The burgundy tunic Laurie wears echoes the reddish highlights in her hair. She wore that tunic last year.

“Brian’ll be fine. You’re missing your baby,” Allie says, not dismissively but softly.

“I love this party so much. I love you guys and Ann Arbor,” Laurie says. The tinge of nostalgia in her voice surprises me. Our eyes meet. “I don’t want to miss a minute of it. This is the start of the entire exciting season.” Her grin conveys her enthusiasm.

“Sure. You’re up.” I nod to Laurie.

Laurie retreats into my office and returns with her bags. Disney follows her, his tail turning in a circle and his eyes bright.

Laurie’s my hairdresser. Vera started sporting a particularly sexy and sassy haircut about ten years ago and told me Laurie had cut it. I’ve been using her ever since. At that point, she was working her way through college, but she never quit hairdressing. Laurie helped me transition my hair from blond to what was increasingly becoming white gray. “It’ll bring out the blue in your eyes. And give you more vibrancy.”

“You sure it won’t make me look old?”

“No. More flamboyant, if anything.”

Slowly, we lightened the color I was using. Gradually, she increased the amount of white highlights. Now it’s completely white. During one of those years, back when it was mostly blond, I brought her a couple dozen of our cookies. Brian loved them and she loved baking. I knew that Jackie was moving, so Laurie joined.

This year, after adopting Olivia, she cut her clientele to provide for her own maternity leave by working three afternoons a week instead of five. Her husband is a real estate agent. Their budget has gotten smaller, but Laurie never says a word. She doesn’t meet us for shopping sprees or for dinner, but that could be because of Olivia. “Bring her with you,” I say. “We’d love to see her.”

There’s silence on the phone and then she says, “Well, I better not.”

“We’re just going to split some appetizers at Zingerman’s.” I try to encourage her, but she still declines.

As she bustles back and forth gathering her bags and the women resume chatting to their neighbors, I think of all the years I heard about Brian’s low sperm count. The shots, the drugs, even the operation they tried. But nothing worked.

“Maybe a miracle. It just takes one.” Her hair was feathered then, and blond.