“They saw our website,” she said. “And I told them, listen, you say you like our work. Well, it’s not going to look like that if you leave all the heavy wood everywhere.” Amelia was surprisingly practical when speaking about her work. Yes, she was a true artist, and it was this aspect of her, above all else, that drew me to her. But she acknowledged the commercial side of her job without apology. Amelia and I had so much in common.

I found the home handsome—though not in the same league as the Straub house. Amelia led me up the stairs, pointing out details with which she was pleased, such as the design of the black iron newel posts, the steel balusters, and the gracefully curved mahogany handrails. The house didn’t completely represent her aesthetics, but I could tell she was proud of it.

She showed me the master suite on the second floor and the children’s bedrooms on the third floor. “We’re submitting photos of our work for an award we were nominated for,” she said. “The photographer we normally use totally flaked.” We were about to head back down the stairs when she stopped and turned to face me, her eyes bright. “You know, I just had an idea,” she said. “Would you take photos of the house for us?”

It took a minute for me to register what she’d said. When I did, I felt a hollow pit in my stomach. She’d asked me to lunch for this particular reason. I’d believed she was interested in spending time with me.

“We need someone brilliant who can fight against all the dark,” she said. “Of course I’d pay you anything you ask.”

I told myself that the request was flattering. She liked the photos of Ian’s mother’s place. Real friends do favors for each other. Just because Amelia had asked me for a favor, that didn’t necessarily mean anything about our friendship.

But I felt foolish, and at that moment, when I tried to see myself through her eyes, I saw Natalie’s babysitter and a party photographer. Not an artist. Not a peer.

When it came time for the shoot the following week, I overcame my despondency and was able to enjoy myself, largely because I had Amelia’s undivided attention and her admiration. She followed me around like a puppy dog, just as Ian and Paula had done in Paula’s apartment. Occasionally I allowed Amelia to look through the viewfinder. “How do you do it?” she said. “You’re not misrepresenting the space, but you’re interpreting it in the best possible way. You’re a genius.”