I make a big pot of coffee while Aimee boils water for tea. I go to put on gentle music so as not to rattle the visibly hungover Kiera, but I’m unable to withstand so much silence. The other me has a playlist called shhh, it’s nice. I press Shuffle and an acoustic, subdued version of “Blues Run the Game” comes on.

“Oh, that’s a lullaby, that is,” says Kiera, draping herself over the side of the sofa.

“I hope it’s okay I invited that one,” says Aimee. “I figured, the more minds on it, the better.”

We both look at her.

I look to Kiera, who says, “I like to be a part of things.”

Aimee and I look at each other now, both resisting a laugh. It’s our first look like this. The kind of exchange you have with someone when you don’t need to use words.

“Of course it’s okay,” I say, knowing that Aimee really invited Kiera because she wanted the buffer. It would probably be too much to hang out with me alone after we evidently hadn’t in so long. I don’t mind at all. It’s been even longer for me, except for the coffee date.

I’m surprised at how excited I am to work on this. Brilliance lacks the artistic exploration I thought I’d one day have if I was lucky enough to succeed. It’ll feel good to genuinely contribute.

Aimee sent me the file of the existing script this morning and I read it while I waited for them to arrive. It seems fun. A dark comedy with an emotional core, though she hasn’t figured out the ending yet. It’s a quick two-act sixty minutes about two girls, Hailey and Lola, going back to their hometown for a high school reunion. While they’re there, they decide to try to break into Hailey’s childhood home—now owned by someone else—to retrieve the time capsule they hid under the floorboards when they were sixteen.

It’s funny and smart, like Aimee. But, despite what a perfectionist she is, the fact that she’s let it come down to the wire like this is not like Aimee. I want to ask how she let it happen, but I know that’s the wrong thing to ask when you’re in the we have to pretend this is totally fine and doable phase.

“Want anything in your tea?” I ask Aimee, dropping the two bags of Earl Grey into the pot she pulled out. Evidently everyone knows their way around this kitchen better than I do.

When she doesn’t answer, I look behind me to see she’s on her phone, looking furiously stressed.

“Kiera? Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please. Too much sugar, too much cream.”

“Got it.”

I give Kiera’s to her, then bring over the tea and mug for Aimee.

“Everything okay?” I ask.