it near graduation, sitting on the floor of her apartment with abandoned textbooks around us and the unreasonable conviction that adulthood would begin once somebody gave us permission. I remembered northern lights, a bus ride, something involving a pie.
“You kept this?”
“Apparently, I’m sentimental.”
“I thought you were organized.”
“Both conditions can coexist.”
She opened the box. Chocolate cake, raspberry filling, one candle leaning slightly left. The first item on the list was eating birthday cake before breakfast, and Elise pointed accusingly toward my coffeemaker.
“That may be a
