“Maybe not letters. I don’t think that’s any better than texts. I don’t need to know the gory details, but send me things. Send me a picture of something pretty you saw or a poem you read that you liked or, I don’t know, it doesn’t have to even be meaningful. Send me a free sample of perfume you get in a magazine. Just things from your life.”

“Life debris,” I said.

“Exactly. What if our story isn’t a romantic comedy after all?” she asked. “This bit doesn’t feel very funny. Maybe it’s an epic romance. Where the heroines separate and years pass but someday when the timing is right they meet again—”

“On top of the Empire State Building?”

“Sure, or, you know, like somewhere a lot cheaper to get to.”

“The ticket line of a Ferris wheel?”

She grinned. “That’s more like it. Ten years from now?”

“Make it five.”

“Deal.”

I lifted the breakfast tray, which was set between us on the bed, and put it on the floor.

“There’s one last thing we didn’t tick off,” I said.

“Are you sure? I think we did it all last night,” Ruby joked.

“We never got to slow dance.”

“You’re right.” She nodded.

I stood on the bed, my feet unsteady on the springy mattress, and held out my hand. She took it, bouncing up on her feet, the momentum of the mattress propelling her into my arms. With my other hand I took my phone out and then pressed play on the first song that came up on my phone.

We turned in circles, swaying gently to the decidedly unromantic music of Survivor.

“I’m Veronica,” Lipstick Girl says.

“Good thinking, Veronica. I really don’t think I would have been able to say no to her.”

“I think she would have asked us to sign up in blood if we didn’t get out of there soon.”

“Very likely.”

“So do you have a name, then?” Veronica prompts me.

“Right. Yes, I do. Saoirse.”

“Like the actress.”

“No! She keeps saying Sur-sha and I know it’s her name too, and technically she’s allowed to say it however she wants, but it’s Seer-sha and she needs to fall in line with the rest of the country.”

Veronica salutes me. “Yes, ma’am. Will never mention she-who-must-not-be-named again.”

“Well, in fairness to her she’s national treasure. It’s just the name thing.”

We come to a stand decked out in rainbow flags and I try not to notice my heart beat a little faster when Veronica marches up and signs her name and email on their clipboard. I add my name and email even though I have no intention of ever going to a meeting. Unless maybe she would be there.

My phone buzzes again.

DAD

Will you pick up some strawberries on the way home for Beth?

DAD