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“What might that be?”

“Be sure you want to let it go.”

There’s no need for me to comment. “Let’s get this tree up and have a drink.”

Ali nods.

“I still have some of that bourbon Tim brought for Thanksgiving,” I tell her, hoping to change the tenor of our conversation.

“Why am I not drinking it?” Ali replies.

Good. She’s ready to move on. “I’d like to finish with the step stool and climbing the cellar stairs before we start with drinking.”

“Smart thinking,” Ali says. “You don’t have Brooklyn here to take care of you when you fall on your ass.”

Okay, so maybe she’s not totally ready to let it go. “No. I have you.”

“Who do I have?”

I laugh. “God help us both.”

***

DECEMBER 13th

Cold medicine and whiskey. I should know better than to indulge when I’m still nursing the remnants of the flu. Ali tried to convince me to go somewhere today for my birthday. I told her I was still feeling the effects of whatever nasty crud gripped me earlier in the week. It’s true. I am, along with a touch of the Irish Flu. She knows better than to push me about birthday celebrations. I don’t make a big deal out of my birthday. It’s just another day. I suppose some of that’s because I lost my dad the day before my fortieth birthday. We had a huge party planned. I know it’s completely irrational, but I can’t help feeling superstitious. I like my birthday to pass without incident. Ali left me a card on the kitchen counter. It’s a typical humorous card about the fact that I’m older—even if it is only by two months. I have to hand it to my best friend, she’s always been a terrific gift-giver. This year my card includes two tickets to a Boston Bruins game, a reservation at a swank downtown hotel, and a promise of dinner. We have an unspoken agreement. Birthday gifts are always an excuse to plan a getaway. We see a concert, a sporting event, or we visit a place neither of us has ever been. Time together is the best gift.

I’m glad I didn’t agree to any travels today. It’s dreary, cold, rainy, windy, and altogether blah. It’s a perfect day to watch movies, eat junk food, have pizza delivered, and stay in my pajamas. Believe it or not, that constitutes a perfect birthday plan for me. Just as I’m about to settle back onto my couch, a knock lands on my door. I’m tempted to ignore it. It’s likely a delivery. I ordered a lot of Christmas gifts online. A second knock tells me whatever is there might be valuable. The last thing I expect to see when I open the door is, “Brooklyn?”

“I don’t make a habit of showing up unannounced,” she says.

“What are you doing here?” I’m so caught off guard I forget to invite her in from the rain.

“Could I come in?”

“What? Oh, shit. Of course.” I close the door when she steps inside. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s your birthday.”

She remembered my birthday?

“Or did I get that wrong?” she asks.

“No. It is. I can’t believe you remembered that.” I take her coat and hang it in the corner closet.

“I’m good with dates,” she replies. She reaches into her enormous bag and hands me a present.

“What’s this?”

“I thought we just discussed the fact that it’s your birthday.”

“You didn’t need to get me anything. I thought you had plans this weekend?”

Brooklyn looks confused.

Shit. “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I say. “Not intentionally. I just heard you mention plans on the phone the other day.”

Brooklyn nods but makes no attempt to explain or comment. “I asked Ali if you had any plans for your birthday.”