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We order Thai food, open a bottle of wine, and catch up until neither of us can keep our eyes open. Paige tells me about a guy she dated for three weeks who referred to himself as an entrepreneur despite being unable to explain what his business was. I tell her about Black Fern, the regulars I’m starting to recognize around town, and Nell’s ongoing campaign to convince me that my black wardrobe requires more color.

I don’t mention Zander.

Saturday disappears into coffee, shopping, and wandering through neighborhoods I know well enough that I don’t need directions. I stop at one of my old favorite art stores and spend too much money on supplies I could have ordered online. Paige drags me into a boutique where everything costs twice what it should, then complains when I refuse to buy a green dress she swears would look good with my hair.

By early evening, I’m glad I came.

I missed this.

The city has an energy I used to love, and part of me still does. People everywhere, restaurants spilling light onto the sidewalks, music drifting from an open door as we pass. There’s always somewhere else to go and something else happening.

It feels familiar.

It just doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

Dinner is at a little Italian place in the Mission that we used to go to when none of us had enough money for the restaurants we wanted to eat at. Paige and I get there first, and Dani arrives ten minutes later with an apology, a hug, and a story about a rideshare driver who spent the entire trip trying to convince her to invest in cryptocurrency.

Within half an hour, we’ve ordered too much food and are working our way through a second bottle of wine.

Dani looks across the table at me while she winds pasta around her fork. “So, are you dating anyone up there yet, or have you actually managed to move somewhere new without immediately finding a man to complicate things?”

“No.”

Paige pauses with her wineglass halfway to her mouth. “That was suspiciously fast.”

“It was a simple question.”

Dani laughs. “Which means there’s definitely someone. Who is he?”

“There isn’t a he.”

Paige sets her glass down. “And now you’ve denied it twice, which is doing absolutely nothing for your case.”

I consider lying, but they’ve both known me too long and would see straight through it. “There’s my neighbor.”

Paige leans forward. “Your neighbor?”

“He’s annoying.”

“That tells me nothing,” Dani says. “Except that you’ve clearly been thinking about him.”

“I’m giving you context. He moved into the other half of the duplex and immediately started playing music loud enough to come through the shared wall.”

Dani takes a sip of wine. “What kind of music?”

“Rock.”

Paige shrugs. “That could be worse.”

“Not when it’s midnight and your entire living room is vibrating.”

Dani’s smile widens. “Okay, now I definitely want to hear the rest of this.”

I tell them about the first few weeks, mostly because once I start, it’s surprisingly easy. Zander turning the volume up because he knew it irritated me. Me pounding on the wall. Him treating my complaints like encouragement. The revolving women at his door that I absolutely did not care about.

Paige catches that one. “You noticed the women?”

“They parked in my parking space.”