Kirsten's gaze locked onto my face, waiting for my reaction.

"You're overthinking it." I managed a smile. "The company's putting together an aid construction project. I'd been on the fence about it for a while, but I figured it'd be good to get out and see the world. So I signed up."

"Where?" Kirsten asked immediately.

"Africa."

They both froze.

Peter's brow furrowed.

"How long?"

"Three to five years. Depends on how the project goes."

Kirsten's lips parted, then closed again.

Peter's frown deepened. "How come you never mentioned this before?"

"It was a last-minute thing from the company."

My voice was perfectly steady when I said it.

Then came another stretch of silence.

Peter sighed and reached over to clap me on the shoulder. "At least have dinner with us before you go. Just the three of us. And don't you dare say you're working overtime."

I nodded.

When I walked them to the door, Kirsten trailed behind.

She paused mid-step at the threshold and glanced back at me.

The look was brief, so brief that Peter, already ahead of her, didn't notice at all.

After the door closed, I leaned against it and stood there for a while.

The living room still held the faint traces they'd carried in. Kirsten was still using that same gardenia-scented shampoo.

I'd breathed it in for too many years. I could have picked it out with my eyes shut.

The end of the month came fast.

Peter chose the restaurant: Rosie's BBQ Joint.

Back when the three of us were kids crammed into the old tenement building, the thing we looked forward to most in winter was sharing a hot pot.

Of course, we couldn't afford anything fancy back then. Just cabbage, tofu, and a few slices of meat.

But the three of us squeezed around a tiny table, fighting over the last piece of tofu in the pot, and that was enough to keep us laughing all night.

The place was packed.

Peter ordered a whole table's worth of food and a case of beer.

"First round. To the three of us, and everything we've been through since we were kids."

I clinked my glass against his and took a long drink.

Kirsten drank too, but she'd never been much of a drinker. The beer caught in her throat and she coughed several times.

Peter grabbed a napkin and handed it to her, patting her back.

"Easy. Nobody's racing you."

Kirsten took the napkin, dabbed her lips, and smiled.

I watched them and thought the picture actually looked pretty good.