"I'd like yellow flowers for the funeral," Ella said gloomily. "Roses, if you can find them. If not, daffodils work, too."

Louise snorted. "It's December."

"So?"

"So daffodils are out of season." She plopped a bottle of peppermint Schnapps into the basket that Ella was holding. "Oh, come on. Surely it wasn't that bad?"

"You have met my parents before, haven't you?"

Louise rolled her eyes. "You mean the ones that practically raised Max and I? Yeah. I have."

She started placing a collection of colourful cans in the cart next, stretching on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf of the LCBO fridge. A sales assistant shot her a suspicious look, and Ella didn't blame him; between Louise's short legs, brunette pigtails and striped t-shirt, she could pass for fourteen.

"They want me to go back," she told Louise, half-heartedly examining a bottle of red wine. "To repeat the year."

"But you don't want to?"

"I hate business." She pulled a face. "You know that."

"So switch programs."

"To what?"

Louise looked at Ella as if she'd lost her mind. "Music. Obviously."

She gripped the bottle of wine. God, Louise made it sound so easy. But if her parents were angry at her for dropping out, she could only imagine how that conversation would go. As failed musicians themselves, Ella's parents viewed studying music a lot like buying lottery tickets: often futile, and more liable to ruin your life than enhance it.

And then there was Rory.

She set the bottle of wine back on the shelf, feeling suddenly exhausted. The Patriots were chart-toppers. They had won Grammy awards and Juno awards and other awards that Ella couldn't even pronounce the names of.

She could never live up to him.

Ella blew out a breath. No. She could either go back to studying at the Rotman School of Management, or quit university altogether. Those were her only options.

"What else are you going to do?" Louise made a face as she examined a packet of shimmery crystals that dissolved in champagne. "Live on your parents' couch?"

"Absolutely not."

"Well, then—"

"Look!" Ella seized a gaudy, plastic green reindeer — mostly to distract her — and waggled her eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"There's no way Sophia's letting that into her apartment."

"Really?"

"Go on, then." She crossed her arms, smirking. "I dare you."

For a moment, Ella considered it; then she pictured Sophia's sleek Anthropologie apartment with its white shag rugs and rose-gold bar cart and she swiftly set the ugly reindeer down.

"Maybe not."

Louise handed over her ID at the check-out, and the elderly woman took her time examining it, holding it up to the light as if she might discover that it was made of straw. Ella ducked her head to hide a smile. Louise turned nineteen last month — the legal drinking age in Ontario — but sales assistants never believed her. It drove Louise nuts.

Sure enough, Louise's expression was like a thundercloud.

"Unbelievable," Louise muttered as soon as they exited the store, arms laden with plastic shopping bags. "You wouldn't believe the things I go through as a short person. Do you know a kid at the airport genuinely asked me if I was an elf?"

They took the subway to Ella's apartment. Well, "apartment" was a generous term, Ella thought wryly; her room at the student residence halls was more of a shoe-box with a single-bed, a desk, and a violin propped near the windowsill. She placed the parcels on her bed, looking at the empty white walls.

This was one of the last times that she would be here.

Even the thought made her stomach flip over.

And then what? Louise was right; she had no plan for the future. All she knew was that the idea of taking even another year of business at Rotman made her want to gouge out her eyes with the ugly reindeer.

Fortunately, Louise was digging through her closet with enough grim determination to distract Ella from her thoughts.

"Oh, my god," she griped. "What on earth are we going to wear tonight? Ella, have you even been to a mall since I last saw you?"

"Once." She took a seat on the bed. "To pick up my contacts."

Louise didn't bother to dignify that with a response.

"What about this?" She held out something black and silky for her inspection. "You could totally wear this with a cute pair of heels."

"That's a shirt."

"Is it?" Louise wrinkled her nose. "I thought it was a very short dress."

"Well, it's not very festive," Ella said, mostly because she knew Louise would try to convince her to wear it, otherwise. "What about my red top?"

"Your wool jumper?" Louise paused in hanging the black top, turning to stare at her. "I thought you only wore that as pajamas."

"It's versatile," she said defensively, and Louise rolled her eyes.

"Okay, that's it." She grabbed her phone. "I'm calling in reinforcements."

By the time that Ophelia arrived, Louise and Ella were halfway through a bottle of white wine. At the sound of a knock on the door, Louise — giddy with excitement and also pinot gris — sprung gleefully from the bed, tackling Ophelia like a line-backer.

"My hair!" Ophelia squealed. "Lou, you'll ruin it!" She tried unsuccessfully to bat Louise off, but Louise only clung tighter, like a barnacle to a rock. "Oh, for God's sake."

"You missed me," Louise sing-songed. "Admit it."

"I didn't."

"You did." She poked her cheek. "I can tell."

Ophelia sighed. Her red hair was swept into an elaborate up-do, and she was already wearing heels, kohl eyeliner, and a perfume that smelled like roses and vanilla. Her fingernails were painted nude, but there were ink stains on her palms.

"Here." Ophelia thrust a bundle of clothes towards them. "I can't stay long. Soph is terrorizing the caterers, and someone needs to do damage control."

They both changed quickly. As per usual, Ophelia hit the nail on the head; Louise wiggled into a green halter dress the same shade as her eyes, and Ella put on a black jean skirt and blue tank-top that didn't wash out her light features.

Admittedly, the skirt was shorter than she was strictly comfortable with.

But it would do.

It was a short Uber ride to Sophia's apartment in Harbord Village. Ella could tell by the booming bass that the party was already in full swing, and they were only two steps through the door when Sarah June pressed a gingerbread martini into her hand.

"You made it!" she crowed, as if Louise might not show up to her own party. "You look amazing. Is that skirt from Zara?"

They exchanged pleasantries. Halfway through the conversation, Ella sneakily pressed the martini into Louise's hand. She took it without question, taking a large swallow. This was their silent system; Louise took the drinks, and Ella took care of her later.

Sarah June was halfway through a story about a yoga retreat she went to in the desert when Louise's eyes darkened.

"Oh, shit," she muttered.

"What?"

Louise tipped her head subtly. "Look."

Ella followed her gaze and then groaned.

"Quick," Ella said, grabbing her hand. "She hasn't seen us. There's still time."

But alas, there wasn't time.

"Louise!" A leggy blonde materialized next to them. "Oh, my god. I saw the papers; you must be so devastated." She touched Louise's arm. "How's Max holding up?"

Louise looked at Alex's hand as if she very much wanted to impale it with her high heel, and Ella covered a smile. Unfortunately, her smile was wiped away when she realized that Sarah June had managed to slip away, leaving them alone with Alex.

The traitor.

"He's fine," Louise said shortly.

"The poor thing," Alex continued. "He must just want to forget about it."

"I'm sure he does."

"If only people would stop talking about it," Alex said, with such sincerity that Ella had to cough to hide a laugh. Unfortunately, the noise alerted Alex to her presence. "And how's Rory, Ella? Is he back in town anytime soon?"

"No, no." She waved her off. "Not for months. He's just about to start his tour."

As if Alex didn't already know.

"Well, I'm having a little get together next week," Alex said, just a little too casually. "So if Rory's in town, let him know he's welcome to stop by. Max, too."

"And us?" Louise asked sweetly. "Are we welcome to stop by?"

For a moment, Alex looked baffled. "Oh, sure." She took a sip of champagne. "Of course. I thought that was implied."

Louise drained the rest of the gingerbread martini, wiping foam off the top of her lip. "You'll have to excuse us," she said, linking her arm through Ella's. "Our drinks need refilling."

Ella leaned closer as they made their way toward the drinks table, which was piled high with golden glasses, bottles of champagne and an ice sculpture that may or may not be Louise. "We're not really going to her party, right?"

"Oh, hell no," Louise snorted. "Over my dead body."

The party improved from there. Sophia glided around the room, her tinkling laugh echoing off the large glass windows as she flitted from group to group. Louise — to the surprise of no one — ended up dancing on a table. At midnight, Ophelia snuck off to read a book.

And inevitably, Ella ended up in the kitchen.

She had developed a routine, after their days at Lovewood Academy: clean the dishes, mop the floor, sort out the garbage. Mercifully, there were fewer dishes tonight — usually Ella made food beforehand, but Sophia's catering company had saved her hours of work — and she was just reaching for the mop when her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Well, well," Rory drawled. "If it isn't the university drop-out."

"Oh, shut-up, Ror."

"Mom and Dad just told me the news." He sounded amused. "Should I be worried, or impressed?"

"You should be celebrating," Ella said gloomily. "You're going to inherit everything, now. Mom's going to write me out of the will."

"She'll calm down." Rory paused. "Eventually."

Ella exited from the kitchen, slipping out on to the balcony. "What makes you so sure?"

"I stole a speedboat, remember?" Rory must be plucking a guitar, because she could hear music. "And she's not angry with me anymore."

"You bought her a Gucci handbag," Ella pointed out. "My regular student budget can't accommodate things like that."

"You're not a student."

"Ouch."

"Too soon?" He strummed a G-chord. "I was testing the waters."

She leaned against the cold railing. The frigid December air nipped at her bare thighs, and she shivered, bouncing up and down on her toes for warmth. She could see the Toronto skyline glittering below her, like a sea of stars in the black night.

"I can't go back there, Ror."

"I know." His voice softened. "You shouldn't have to."

"But what am I going to do?" Ella could feel the panic rising inside of her, fueled by three glasses of white wine and the angry, thrumming music of the party. "I have literally no skills except for a freakish knowledge of Bach."

"Why don't you just play it by ear?"

Ella gripped the railing. No. Absolutely not.

"Maybe I should work at a coffee shop," she said. "I like coffee."

"Too dull."

"What about a waitress?" she tried. "I hear Hooters is hiring."

Ella could practically hear Rory's scowl. "As if Max or I would let you work there. Do you know what they make the waitresses wear?"

"That," Ella said, "is incredibly sexist."

"You're right." Rory sounded sheepish. "Sorry. But I have a better idea of how you can fill your time, anyway."

"Geocaching? Becoming a professional yodeler?"

"No," Rory said. "Why don't you come on tour with me?"