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before Jake and I came down from our heady romantic tornado, he’d convinced me to sneak into the carousel after dark.
    “This can’t be a good idea,” I’d said, citing the potential political damage to the senator if we were arrested. “I can’t imagine that bailing out one of her senior-most aides will be looked kindly upon in the papers.”
    But he grabbed my hand and picked the lock and led me in anyway. And it was amazing: It was truly as if we were three or four or five, like those kids I saw today. It was a cloudless night, and though you can’t see the stars in New York City, in the darkness of the park, it’s almost as if you can. We sat on the jester-colored horses and stared up at the sky, watching the lights from the skyscraping buildings bounce off the clouds and listening to a nearby Summerstage reggae concert. We didn’t speak for nearly an hour, and then Jake slipped off his perch on the horse and circled around mine and kissed me. And then we fell into each other in ways that we definitely wouldn’t have if we were five.
    This afternoon, the carousel slowed to a halt and the music wound down. As the kids scattered and a few cried, I took my cue to exit as well, pushing my hands into my pockets and wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck. I wasn’t sure if the sudden chill were noticeable to anyone but me. Or if there were a sudden chill at all, really.
    I was nearing the park exit when I heard my name echoing behind me.
    “Natalie? NAT? Is that you?”
    I spun around to see Lila Johansson, my sophomore- and The Department of Lost & Found
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    junior-year sorority roommate, and by more current definitions, my second-best friend after Sally and a fellow bridesmaid in Sally’s wedding, waving at me from beneath a towering maple tree. With her crisply straight, perfectly highlighted blond locks, dark den-ims that just skimmed over her gazellelike legs, and her man-crushing stilettos, Lila was the embodiment of a celebrity, even though the only place she was famous was within our inner circle.
    And she was really primarily famous for putting those stilettos to use. And often. We first met our freshman year. We’d sat down next to each other after receiving our bids from our sorority and were promptly assigned to go to lunch together. I looked down at my monogrammed turtleneck and fingered my pearl bracelet and wondered what on earth a girl like me would have in common with a gal like her. Turns out that over chicken kung pao we discovered that hair color and inseam length have little to do with the true testament of who you are. True, she would happily desert you for a glass of wine with a budding Armani model, but her faults were clearly laid out from the get-go. At least those I could see.
    “Oh my God, I thought that was you!” Lila ambled closer.
    “What are you doing out in the middle of the day? I was on my lunch break and . . .” And then she blanched. “Um, how are you?”
    I forced a smile. Clearly, Lila’s gut instinct to hail me down took hold before she thought of the consequences of having to actually speak to cancer-riddled me.
    “I’m fine.” I nodded. “Really, I’m fine.” I looked down and kicked some crisp leaves with my foot.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, as she pulled me in for a hug. “I should have called. Sally told me a few weeks ago, and I’ve been on the road for work, and . . . oh shit . There’s really just no excuse.”
    “It’s okay. Honestly, it is,” I replied into her cashmere-blended wool scarf and then stepped back.
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    a l l i s o n w i n n s c o t c h
    “I just . . .” She raised her arm and let it drop. “I just didn’t . . .”
    “Know what to say? I know. Really, it’s okay, Li. A lot of people haven’t called. In fact, most haven’t. You’re not the only one.” I shrugged and looked down at my sneakers. Breaking news to friends that you had cancer wasn’t in the etiquette guidebook—
    truth be told, I’d reached out to as few