I grab my burgundy ski jacket off the hook, and when I slide my arms in, my white ski cap falls on the floor. I pick it up and pull it down on my head and then put on my brown snow boots that roll down so the creamy knots of fur show. My blue jeans ain’t wide enough to go over it, so I tuck ’em inside. Now my knees is sagging low and look three times their normal size, but I don’t care. I ain’t trying to win no fashion contest tonight.

I get in the Suburban. I hate this truck. It’s too big and too blue, even though blue is my favorite color. But not this shade of blue. Too much green is in it, and as soon as Al is gone, I’m trading it in for a black Tahoe, which is what I wanted to get in the first place. See what happens when you compromise? If it wasn’t so late I’d head straight for the dealership and trade this bitch in right now. Tomorrow won’t be too soon. I back the truck out into the street without knowing where I’m going and just start driving. Before I get to the first stop sign, I slow down, pull over to the curb, reach in the glove compartment, and get a little bottle of Beefeater’s. A friend of mine at work, her husband works for a company that supply the booze for a lot of airlines, and she brings us grocery bags full of all different kinds. We just take our pick, but I ain’t picky. Free is free. And, besides, at times like this, it’s nice to have a stash for the road. I break the paper around the neck and twist the top, swallowing this nasty stuff in one gulp, then I drop the empty bottle in my purse. I’m feeling warm. Mellow. Better. That son-of-a-bitch.

I jerk the gear into drive, and that’s exactly what I do until I find myself turning into the parking lot of the mall twenty minutes later. This makes sense. Being away from him and the kids. It’s nice and bright in here. Full of strangers who don’t know that my husband is cheating on me for the second time in ten years. I try to smile as I walk in Zales Jewelers and find myself standing at one of the ring counters, where I spot a diamond that looks like it’s got my name on it.

“May I show you something?” The saleswoman is black, and her hair is parted down the middle in two thick silver braids.

“Yes, that one right there,” I say, pointing.

“This is a gem. Half a carat. Pricey. But. Well, is it for you?”

“Yes,” I say, as she hands it to me.

“Engagement?”

I cut my eyes at her. “Not quite.”

She says a soft and embarrassing, “Oh.” The ring fits perfectly, which I take as a sign that I’m supposed to buy it.