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“Were you uninterested?” Patty asked.

“No. I cared because she cared. I just didn’t have anything useful to add.” I paused. “Then the baby came, and it got worse.”

Patty frowned. “Worse how?”

“Her entire house is different. There are bottles everywhere. She’s exhausted. The baby makes noises I don’t understand, and everyone else seems to know whether they mean hunger, gas, tiredness, or immediate medical collapse.”

Patty nodded in understanding. “Babies tend to be terrible communicators.”

“I know. But Missy is completely natural with him. She’s a mother now. She has a husband and a house and a family rhythm. I walk in and feel that the person I knew so well has disappeared into someone I don’t understand.”

Patty listened carefully.

“That sounds lonely,” she said.

The word lonely caught me off guard.

“I’m the one avoiding her.” I looked down at my hands. “She feels like a stranger.”

I thought about Missy’s messages. The invitations. The pictures. The way she continued reaching out even when I offered almost nothing in return.

“I keep thinking I’ll visit once I know how to be around her,” I said. “And the baby.”

Patty tilted her head. “You know that’s backwards, right? You learn how to be around her by being around her.”

“What if it’s awkward?”

“It will be awkward. Babies are awkward. New parents are exhausted. Old friendships don’t magically update themselves without installation time.”

I rubbed my thumb across my knee. “She probably has other mom friends now.”

“Probably.”

“She doesn’t need me.”

Patty shook her head. “No way. Those are two different categories.”

“What does that mean?”

“A mom friend can explain pumping schedules. You can remind her who she was before she spent three consecutive days discussing infant bowel movements.”

I laughed quietly.

Patty pointed her fork at me again. “Also, you were wonderful with Caldwell at the reunion.”

“Caldwell is eight.”

“He was overwhelmed and surrounded by people. You sat down, respected his space, and found a way to connect without demanding anything.”

“A baby can’t draw,” I pointed out.

She laughed. “Yeah, most babies are awful artists.”

“You know what I mean. They can’t communicate.”

“Neither could Caldwell in that moment. You paid attention.”

“That’s different.”