The ocean was nothing more than a soft roar behind Addison’s house, a steady, calming soundtrack to the glowing fire pit crackling between the four of you. The night was warm, salt-sweet, and tinted gold from the fairy lights strung along Addison’s deck railing.

You were sitting curled sideways in one of the four cushioned armchairs on her back deck, a fluffy blanket thrown over your legs, one socked foot dangling over the arm. A half-empty glass of red wine resting against your knee as you watched the flames dance in the firepit. Addison sat directly across from you, legs folded beneath her, red hair loose from work and face softened by the firelight.

Naomi was to your right, gesturing with her wine glass as she told some heartfelt rant about a patient ignoring her advice, again. And Violet sat to your left, tucked into her oversized sweater, nodding in that therapist-y, amused way of hers.

The four of you did this often now. Ever since you moved to LA and started at Oceanside with Addison’s invite and job offer to you, this little deck had become your sanctuary. But what the others didn’t know, what only Addison remembered, was that the roots of your friendship went far deeper. You’d known Addison since you were 12. Best friends long before medical school, before Seattle, before LA, before all the heartbreak in between and all the families and mess.

“Okay,” Violet said suddenly, interrupting Naomi’s tirade and your silent thoughts. She pointed her wine glass dramatically at the group. “We need a trip.” she announced.