I open my front door to Marley, who’s holding a box of pizza with two blocks of mozzarella on top. “Um,” I say. “Well,” she says, pushing into my apartment, “I ordered a pizza and asked for extra cheese. But then I was like, what if that’s not enough cheese, you know? So I stopped and got some extra, because . . . cheese.” I nod approvingly. “This is why we’re best friends.”
