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“I feel like you’re proving my point.”

But she unwraps the clingwrap from around her head and tosses it in the trash in the kitchen, then slips into her boots. She’s wearing an orange and yellow striped romper today, and she looks adorable. I try to squash the prickles in my stomach.

Ever since the engagement party, I’ve been slip-sliding into feelings that are going to land me smack in the pit of disappointment. Because I don’t want to just be her friend anymore. I don’t want to be her preparation coach or her plus-one. I want to be more.

And she doesn’t, and I don’t know what to do about that.

Nothing, I suppose. I do nothing. I shove these feelings in a jar and let them pickle and rot.

“You liked my plan for Labor Day,” I point out as she refills the dogs’ water bowl in the kitchen.

She cuts me a sour look. “Even I can handle a picnic in Riverside Park.”

“The point was the surprise,” I say. “You didn’t know what was coming, and it wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘nobody likes a know-it-all’?” she asks as she grabs her keys.

“I do not believe that is a real expression.”

“It is. Look it up. Are we taking the train?” she asks, opening the door. “Oh, hold up.”

She bends down and picks up an envelope with both of our names on it. “What’s this?”

“No idea,” I say.

Inside the envelope is some kind of invitation. It looks expensive, thick creamy stationary with elegant script and illustrations of flowers around the edges.

“You are cordially invited to an evening of camaraderie and celebration on the rooftop of The Archer at 7 PM, on Saturday the 15th of October,” she reads aloud. “P.S. Bring the Pack.” She looks at me. “That’s the day before we leave for Mexico.”

“Who’s it from?” I ask.

“Doesn’t say.”

“Miriam?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Does this look like something Miriam would send?”

Not really.

“Rachel?”

“Maybe,” she muses.

“Great, well, you can spiral about it on our walk,” I say. “It will distract you from the surprise.”

“Ugh,” she groans again.

We step out into the warm evening air and head downtown. As September has slipped toward October, the humidity has eased and the days have begun to grow shorter. I’m excited for my first autumn in the city.

It’s only a few blocks to where we’re going, and I suggest we practice her speech. It’s simple, short, and I told her we’ll put it in a huge font in her Notes app so it will be accessible and easy to read.

“Rachel has been my best friend since kindergarten,” Eloise recites as we wait to cross at 86th Street. The crosstown bus trundles past, leaving a gust of hot, diesel-scented air in its wake. “It’s been a privilege to watch her grow into the amazing woman she is today. And seeing her with Diego, I know she’s finally found her soulmate.” She wrinkles her nose as the light changes, and we cross. “Do I really have to say that?”

She’s been very resistant to the soulmate line. I’ve been trying to keep things simple.

“No, not if it bothers you so much,” I say. A pair of tourists chattering in German walk past us, huge cameras slung around their necks. “What about: she’s finally found the One?”

Eloise mimes gagging. “Forget it, I’ll stick with soulmate.”