Josh and Lauren glanced at each other. “Um . . . nothing. Nice quiet day.”

“So you just fooled around. I get it. Damn you smug marrieds. Josh, please find me a husband.”

He looked at Lauren, and she made an encouraging face, letting him know it was a joke. “Yes, of course. It’s my top priority.” Good lad.

Sarah glanced at the oxygen at the base of the couch. “Rough day?”

“A great day. I’m just a little tired now.” Talking about her health was boring. “Hey, did you get the invitation to Mean Debi’s birthday party?”

“Yes! When did she deign to like me?”

“I have no idea.” Debi was a girl from their old neighborhood who’d been (and still was) a right bitch. “I’m not going. I’m only on the list so she can feel saintly.”

“I’m not going, either. I hated her then, I hate her now, I will always hate her. Remember when she told everyone my father was in jail?”

Lauren sure did. Poor Sarah had cried on the school bus, and Lauren had shielded her, pretending they were looking at a magazine while she handed Sarah tissues. “Let’s have a girls’ night that day and do something way better and post pictures everywhere.”

“Oh, yes. That’s genius. She’ll hate that so much.” They laughed, instantly reverting to sixth graders, which was the beauty of childhood friends. “She commented on the video you posted of Josh snoring, did you see that?”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Josh said.

“You’re welcome. Cinematic genius, if I do say so.” Lauren pulled up her Instagram on her phone. The other day, she’d come home from work to find Josh asleep on the couch, a rhythmic snore-puff with each exhale. She’d very gently taped a Kleenex to his nose, careful not to wake him, and filmed him while Pebbles looked on, head tilted with curiosity, startling slightly as the tissue fluttered.

She still thought it was hilarious (and it had thousands of likes, so she wasn’t wrong). “Ah, here’s what Mean Debi has to say. ‘You’re amazing to still be having fun, despite everything. Hashtag PrayingFor-Lauren.’ Oh, my God!”

They laughed more, though Lauren had to pull hard to get enough air. “I hope her birthday cake turns rancid.”

“Want some pie, Sarah?” Josh asked, getting up and heading for the kitchen.

“Sure! Let me try yours and see if you’re a better baker than I am, in which case I must kill you.”

“Understood.”

Sarah trailed after him, chatting amiably, and a thought came to Lauren.

Sarah could be Josh’s second wife.

Since Lauren’s diagnosis, she’d seen a . . . maturing in her friend. Maybe that was something that happened to everyone who had to face terminal illness, their own or someone else’s. But while Sarah had always, always been her friend, Lauren knew she was competitive, always wanting to be the prettiest girl in the room, the smartest, the best dancer, whatever. The two of them had always planned to go to school on the Hill . . . Lauren had gotten into RISD via early decision and a rather smashing portfolio, but Sarah wasn’t accepted at Brown, despite her straight As. Instead, she’d taken the scholarship offered by the University of Rhode Island. Every time she visited Lauren and they walked around College Hill, Sarah was edgy and a little bitter.

When they graduated, Lauren got her dream job in interior and public space design. Pearl Churchwell Harris, Architects, was located in a beautiful old building on Benefit Street. Sarah got her master’s in social work and took a job with the Department of Children, Youth and Families, which was noble and draining and rewarding and depressing. The Lord’s work, Lauren said, but it took its toll. And, of course, Sarah wasn’t paid nearly enough, whereas Lauren earned enough to be able to find her own place almost immediately. Sarah had lived with her mom until last year.

Lauren wasn’t the comparison type; she was Jen’s little sister, so she’d learned humility early on. She happily accepted her position as second-best daughter (she was the founder of Jen’s fan club, after all). But she could tell that Sarah resented a lot of the surface things. If Lauren wore a new pair of shoes, Sarah’s hawkish eyes would spy them. If she bought anything new for her apartment, Sarah would immediately notice it, but not comment. Then there were the not-so-surface things—Sarah’s dad was a deadbeat idiot; Lauren had had the world’s best father. Sarah had a handful of half siblings she barely knew, courtesy of her father; Lauren had the greatest sister in human history.

So there was jealousy there, and since she had no idea how to combat it, Lauren never addressed it. But it got worse when Lauren started dating Josh. And hey. Josh was perfect and beautiful and everything a person could ever want in a partner. Lauren understood. She believed every woman and gay man on earth would want Josh as a husband. Sarah had a tendency to fall in love fast and hard, and then be dropped. Lauren had asked her to be her bridesmaid, the only one other than Jen. And Sarah had smiled grimly through all wedding stuff, but Lauren knew she was envious.

But whatever competitiveness Sarah had felt melted at Lauren’s diagnosis, and truly, she couldn’t have been a better friend. She came over at least twice a week, and they went out if Lauren felt up to it. Most importantly, Sarah treated Lauren like a normal person. Unlike, say, Mean Debi, who seemed to think that having a sick friend gave her some sort of special status on social media, because she posted about Lauren constantly. Thoughts and prayers to one of my dearest friends, who is bravely battling IFP. Not that Mean Debi ever did anything helpful or kind, mind you. She couldn’t even get the initials of Lauren’s disease right.

Whatever. Sarah had really come through, and she was fun and pretty and hardworking. It would be nice, she thought, to look down from heaven and see the person she loved best in the world married to her oldest friend. It would be great. It would be lovely.

Pebbles whined, cocking her head to look up at her mistress. “Nothing to see here,” she whispered. The dog jumped up on her lap and licked away her tears.