Brooke’s party was a tradition, practically an institution, and we all looked forward to it. She heated the pool up to the high heavens, knowing that at some point one adult was going to jump into it, and then another, until the whole thing felt like a Southern California scene you’d see in the movies. Nobody wore silk to Brooke’s end-of-summer bash for exactly that reason. Nobody wore anything that needed to be dry cleaned, and people tried to remember to leave their good watches at home. But other than that: People. Dressed. Up.

Normally we would have a girls’ trip in the works for September or October, and we’d be talking about that at Brooke’s party. But the summer had been a funny one, and we hadn’t planned anything yet. Rebecca hadn’t said a word, and the rest of us were unsure if we could reasonably take the reins or not. We were in a holding pattern. Circling. There had been all of those changes with the group chat, and the splitting into factions. There had been the newcomer.

A brief rain shower had come on in the early afternoon, but the rain stopped in plenty of time, and the small staff of caterers was put to work placing super-absorbent towels all over the outside furniture. The sun came out in force around four. By the time we arrived at seven it was as if the rain had never happened. The mosquitos had considered coming out to snack on the party guests, but Brooke’s husband had invested in some sort of really expensive silent zapper, so the mosquitos changed their tune, and fast.

The party progressed quickly, the way Brooke’s parties always did. Something about the end of summer made people feel both celebratory and frantic at the same time. We noticed it every year, and every year we got a little more frantic. A new school year always made us realize how quickly our kids were growing up, or, in a more general sense, that time was passing and we weren’t getting any younger.

One of us had a mother suffering from dementia; another, a father with pancreatic cancer. One of us, although you’d never know it, it was all very hush-hush, had a stepchild in rehab. One of us had nothing saved for college, not a penny, and woke up at two thirty nearly every morning in a panic about it. We all felt the future, our futures, reaching out to grab us with terrible talons.

We assuaged that consternation at the bar. Brooke did some of the cooking for the party herself, but she always had caterers to help, and she always hired a bartender, which we believed was one of the reasons it was common for people to drink a lot, and quickly.