I stare at her, uncomfortable in my own skin. Now that I’ve called Aimee, I feel frenzied. It’s like when I decide I want a haircut. Once I’ve made the decision, I become desperate to do it. If I don’t get to a salon within hours, I’m going positively feral with a pair of kitchen scissors.

“Listen, we’ve got work in a bit. Let’s get a bite to eat and then go over. It’ll all be all right.”

“Where do I work? And do I have to go? You’d think this would be cause for a sick day.”

She gives me a look, then puts her arm around my back. “Come along, you poor, ill critter. You have bills to pay. Let’s go.”

We pick up a seafood chowder each and a hunk of bread to share with richly creamy, yellow, salted butter and take it over to the shop called Dinner Party that I noticed last night. Apparently, we both work there.

Kiera unlocks and opens the front door, which hits a bell that hangs above it, sounding a cheerful jingle.

She flips on the lights.

“Oh, this is so cute,” I say. Then, when I feel her eyes on me, I turn and ask, “What?”

“Well, it’s a bit trippy to arrive at work with you and have you act like a customer who’s never been in before.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“I know, I know,” she says. “You don’t know.”

“So it’s like a little gift shop.”

She hesitates and then says, “Yeah, so … mad, okay, so, the idea is like hostess gifts, for lack of a less nineteen-fifties-housewife way to put it. We sell chocolates and candies, some small-batch jams and things. Some wines and digestifs. Little gifts you might pick up when you forget your anniversary or go to meet your boyfriend’s parents or something like that.”

“Oh my God, that’s such a good idea. This would kill in Larchmont.”

“That’s a neighborhood in LA, yeah?”

“Sorry, yes.”

She goes behind the counter. “How’s your wine knowledge?”

“I was a bartender, actually. Before the whole Brilliance thing. I’m not exactly a sommelier, but I know enough to think Sideways was actually a bad movie.”

“Between the toxic buddy bromance and all the pinot noir chat, that movie should be deleted from all streaming services. Though I do agree with them about merlot.”

She switches on the speakers, and Django Reinhardt starts playing. I look at the wooden shelves of wine and realize that this is where the photo on the wall was taken. The one of Aimee, Kiera, and me.

This is too weird.