“There is nothing wrong with relaxing,” Karrie says.

“I complained my neighbors were loud.” I lean in and hiss whisper, “Me.”

“I mean, you are hitting close to thirty-two,” Karrie says, and I glare.

“Yes, Dirty Thirty. I need to be dirty for my thirties,” I tell her.

“That isn’t how it goes,” she counters, trying not to laugh.

“Why are we best friends again?” I ask her, and she throws her head back and laughs.

“The list is very short. I think number one is I named a kid after you,” Karrie says, and I nod my head. All her kids are named after the most important people in their lives. Their first child is named Cooper Douglas after Matthew’s stepfather and Karrie’s father. The second child is names Frances after Karrie’s mother who passed away, and then obviously, the perfect child is Vivienne. Although, truth be told, she really is the perfect one—great in school and never in trouble. It’s like my namesake is dwindling. Chase is the last one and he has to be the cutest little thing ever.

“That could be it. I do love those kids,” I tell her and grab my own glass of water to take a drink.

“I will remember that when they wake you up on Sunday,” Karrie says. I dread the sound of feet when the girls run down the hall to wake me up. Cooper not so much anymore; he’s too cool for that.

“Anyway, I have to get out of this funk,” I tell her, and for the rest of the meal, we make plans for the weekend. When I hug her goodbye five hours later and start my walk back to my apartment, I do it slowly. New York is the perfect place to people watch.

When I finally get home and walk into the cool apartment, I slip off my heels and make my way to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I realize I don’t have much in there besides fruit and a couple of prepared meals that I have ordered in.