“Sure you don’t need my help?” I offered as she slid a lid onto the sauce pot and shimmied it around for a moment before setting it on a back burner, reaching into the cupboard above her head to bring down a colander without even looking. I thought she was brave to cook in so little clothing.

“I got it,” she insisted, dipping a fork into the noodles and picking one carefully off the tines. “And don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.” So what if I was? Sarah tossed a noodle at her kitchen wall and it stuck there, making a strange pattern that reminded me briefly of the Arby’s logo before slowly peeling away. She caught the strand and tossed it into the sink. “Was the wall hungry?”

She smiled as she picked up the pot and moved toward the sink. “That’s how my father taught me. The spaghetti’s done if you throw it against the wall and it sticks.”

“I’d hate to be around when you cook a pot roast.”

I loved when I could surprise a laugh out of her that way, when it wasn’t just a polite thing, but a genuine response. There was something so bright about her in those moments it made my chest ache. I watched as she plated our food, putting down silverware on cloth napkins, which had been carefully folded in a basket on the counter, before calling me to the table.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

The meal was warm and filling, although I didn’t pay much attention to it. Sarah peppered me with questions.

“So what’s after college?”

I sighed, twirling spaghetti with my fork like it was all I could think about. “I don’t know.”

“Have you and Tim talked about it?”

“Me and Tim…” I gulped some more wine, my eyes watering. Everyone always assumed we were an item, like we were one thing, one mind, one entity. Not that we weren’t. We’d been together so long, sometimes even I believed it. And sometimes it drove me crazy. “Yeah, I guess. A little.”