I was having a quiet evening at home when, suddenly, I received a text. It was my friend Laura, asking if I was free Friday. But I already had plans to get dinner with a different friend—a woman Laura had never met, named Erica.
I yearned to invite Laura along but knew, sadly, that I couldn’t. The laws of friendship dictate that getting dinner with two friends who don’t know each other is impossible, as they come from different, parallel universes.
To bring Erica and Laura to the same dimension—eating dinner with me at an Italian restaurant in the East Village, on the same night, at 7 p.m.—could be disastrous, shattering the friendship multiverse and generating awkwardness at unprecedented levels, with pauses in conversation so long, so vacuous, they’d fill with dark matter, sucking us into a void.