I asked Paige whether we should organize something together next year.

“Only if we want to,” she said.

“Not because we’re frightened of what it means if we don’t.”

We stayed on the phone longer than intended.

She told me about the new city, the rainy mornings, a colleague who brought too many homemade muffins, and the tiny apartment where her paintings now leaned against the walls.

When we hung up, I stopped at a bakery and bought a slice of cake.

I took it home, placed it beside Chloe’s photograph, and ate it while watching an old comedy she had liked.