I round the corner to Faith and Flower, the sight of one of our first LA nights together, free of husbands and children. The photo is still in my catalog and looks everything like a celebration gone wildly wrong. A martini tempts me in remembrance of that night, but the restaurant isn't open yet, so I continue my walkabout. I'm a bit saddened by this, and so later, I am thrilled when you suggest we head out for an after-dinner cocktail. We are those women rolling into the final hours of the night in soft focus and warm friendship, having traveled the distance between this instance and all the moments that happened since we were last together. These days, there is arguably too much to share, so we grasp at these moments of kinship more intensely.