The Lost Night - Andrea Bartz Page 0,1

just pulling out a chair at our table when Sarah entered. She spotted me and waved, and I thought she looked exactly the same. She didn’t, of course, and neither did I, a fact I only realized much later that night when I was clicking through old photos, tears rolling down my cheeks. At twenty-three we had that alienoid bone structure, big eyes and sunken cheeks caving into dewy little chins. Now, ten years later, we’re old-young and round-faced and just human again.

Then we hugged, and maybe there was some chemical trigger, a smell or invisible pheromone, but the hug felt exactly like it did a decade ago. We relaxed and smiled at each other and thought maybe this would be fun.

“Lindsay, it’s so good to see you,” she said, dropping into her chair. “You look great.”

“So do you!” I chirped. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years.”

“I know, it’s crazy.” Sarah nodded, eyebrows up. “How have you been?”

“Really good! You know, keeping on. I was so happy to hear you moved back to New York.” Once, for an article, I’d read a linguistics study on conversation patterns: In any duo, the lower-power person imitates the speech style of the alpha. I wondered who was following whom here.

“Yeah, I’m glad you reached out. When we found out my husband was getting transferred here, I was like, ‘Wow, I don’t know that I know anyone in the city anymore.’ ”

“Your husband,” I said. “I can’t wait to meet him.” I’d looked him up on He was annoyingly handsome. At least when friends paired up with unattractive people, I could blot at the jealousy with smugness.

“He’s great.” Sarah smiled and snapped open her menu, looking down. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, no one special!” I said brightly. “So how is it being back in New York?”

She scrunched up her features, preparing some middle-of-the-road answer, when the waiter appeared to rattle off the specials. Sarah ordered a vodka martini, and after a moment’s hesitation, I asked for my usual seltzer with lime. I didn’t often miss drinking, but I knew I’d feel a pulse of envy when her conical glass arrived.

“Oh my gosh, is it okay if I drink?” she asked after the waiter disappeared.

“Of course! I’m totally fine. Otherwise I would have suggested meeting for tea.” She giggled and shrugged, and we both went back to reading our menus.

Christ, was this really Sarah? The same literary, witty, hard-partying friend I’d counted among my clique during that first wild year in New York? I’d messaged her the very day she announced on Facebook that she was moving back from St. Louis, forgetting in my sentimentality that things had ended pretty icily. And then I’d felt embarrassed, until a few weeks ago when she’d replied, apologetic, to set a date.

“It’s good to be back here, but weird,” she said finally. “So much has changed. It almost feels like coming to a new city. But what about you, you still love it?”

“I do,” I replied. “I mean, I’m really lucky to still have a job in magazines, and I’ve been living in the same place in Fort Greene for…five years now?” I took a deep sip and bubbles flooded my tongue.

“That’s great,” Sarah said. “That’s definitely a neighborhood I want to check out.” She pushed her black hair behind her ears and a few silver streaks twinkled like tinsel.

“Well, if there’s any way I can be helpful as you guys look around, just let me know,” I said.

“Thanks, Lindsay. It’s tough because I want to find a place ASAP, but I also don’t want to end up somewhere terrible. Right now we’re living with Nate’s parents in Trenton.” She gave me a knowing look.

“You’re in Jersey?! Wow.”

“Right? I’m one of those people we totally hated back in the day.” We both chuckled.

“Do you keep in touch with anyone from back then?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I mean, just online, like with you. For a while, Alex and I would call or have a little email exchange around the anniversary. You know, raise a glass.” She sipped her drink. “Kevin doesn’t really update anything, so I’m pretty out-of-date on him. I think he and Alex keep in touch, so I get reports every once in a while. Last I heard, he and his husband owned a little music store in Nashville and he was, like, giving drum lessons.”

“Wait, Kevin’s married?”

She laughed. “You didn’t know that? Apparently he met this great guy, like, two seconds after