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“I’ll come say hi.”

I nodded, and then remembered the rest of the table. “Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt.”

There were two women, three men I did not recognize, one who looked familiar, and seated beside Hayes was Oliver, whom I had somehow managed to overlook.

“Hi.”

“Solène.” He smiled. I’d last seen him when we got off the boat in Antibes, when I was smelling of salt and sun and high on champagne and the promise of what was to come. A world away.

I excused myself and made my way over to Daniel, but from that moment on, my mind was elsewhere. We talked about the necessary things: Isabelle, the weather. My back was to Hayes. I was out of his earshot, but I could feel him. And just knowing he was there put me on edge. Especially in the presence of my ex.

“Are you okay? You seem distracted,” Daniel said, sometime after we’d put in our order. He was, as usual, impeccably groomed—smooth skin, chiseled jaw, not a hair out of place—the years had been good to him.

“I’m fine.”

“Work?”

“Work is fine. We have a show going up Saturday.”

“Which artist?”

It was nice of him to ask because I didn’t think he cared.

“It’s a joint exhibit. Tobias James and Ailynne Cho.”

“Well, that should be good. Oh, before I forget…” He reached down and handed over two tiny shopping bags: one from Barneys, the other from Tiffany. “For the birthday girl.”

“Two fancy gifts? Wow.”

“Thirteen is a big year,” he said, sipping from his Evian. And then: “One of them is from Eva.”

He had my attention then. “Which one?”

“Barneys.”

Which begged the question: “Why is Eva buying Isabelle a gift from Barneys?”

“It’s not that big a deal, Sol.”

“It is.”

“It’s like a little ring. It’s not a big deal.”

“A little ring from Barneys can be a very big deal, Daniel.”

He sighed, turning to look out the window, the southern view. “Let’s not do this here. Okay?”

Our food arrived then, and we dropped the subject. He asked about my parents, Isabelle’s bunkmates, what I thought of the conflict that had just erupted in Gaza. There was a time when this was not so hard, finding things to say. When we were young, and kind to each other.

That first spring in New York when we were in love and we whiled away hours in Central Park, studying in Sheep’s Meadow and drinking in the lilacs in the Conservatory Garden. He was so tall and brilliant and sure of himself, and he quoted Sartre and Descartes and that was all I needed.