They picked the place together over text, which took eleven messages and two days. Claire suggested Italian. Nadia countered with that Thai place on Elm. Claire said she’d heard it closed. Nadia checked — it hadn’t, but its hours had changed. They settled on a tapas bar neither had been to, which felt appropriate without either of them saying so.
The hug at the door lasted the right amount of time. Claire smelled like a different perfume than Nadia remembered, which made sense because it had been four years, but something in her stomach registered it as wrong before her brain caught up.
“You look great,” Claire said.
“So do you.” And she did. Sharper cheekbones, better posture. The kind of changes that came from either discipline or loss.
They ordered too many small plates because the menu was designed for it and because pointing at descriptions of food together was easier than looking at each other. Patatas bravas. Gambas al ajillo. A cheese board neither of them needed.
“How’s Marcus?”
“Good. He’s coaching Lila’s soccer team now. Terrible at it. The kids love him.”
“Lila’s playing soccer?”
“Since September. She’s not great either.”
They laughed. The laugh was genuine. It sat in exactly the place a laugh should sit in a conversation between two people who had once known each other completely.
Claire talked about her promotion. Nadia talked about the house renovation that had gone three months over schedule. Claire’s eyes widened at the right moments. Nadia asked follow-up questions that demonstrated she had been listening.
The shrimp arrived. They were perfect — garlic, olive oil, a little heat.
“I think about that road trip sometimes,” Nadia said. “The one where the motel lost our reservation and we slept in the car.”
“God. The mosquitoes.”
“And you had that citronella candle from the gas station.”
“It didn’t work at all.”
“It worked on the mosquitoes near the candle.”
They were both smiling. Nadia could feel the shape of the next sentence — the one where she would say I missed this or Why did we let it go so long or even just I’m sorry about your mother, I should have come to the funeral and not just sent flowers. The sentence was right there, and it would cost almost nothing to say, and it would change the dinner from a pleasant catch-up into something that could bear weight again.
She ate a shrimp instead.
“We should do this more often,” Claire said later, reaching for her coat.
“Definitely. Maybe that Thai place next time.”
“If it’s still open.”
“I’ll check.”
In the parking lot, Nadia sat in her car and watched Claire’s taillights shrink. The evening had been good. She would tell Marcus it was good. It had been exactly the dinner two people have when they’ve already decided, without discussing it, that the version of their friendship that mattered is the one neither of them will mention.
She started the car. The seat warmers came on automatically — Marcus had left them set to high.