“So?” said Polly, as if they were discussing pizza preferences. “You’d had a near-death experience, you’d been through a lot, and God knows we all break down from time to time.” She shook herself. “Honestly, like any of us is impervious to life, or able to fight our way through it alone.” She made a puffing noise, then continued, “Anyway, Bob rose up like a really good-looking but slightly terrifying knight of old England, issued his warning, and literally started rolling up his sleeves. It was beyond awesome.”

Laura raised her eyebrows. “He did?”

“Yeah”—Polly looked amused—“then Maggie chimed in with If you really cared about Laura, you’d respect her privacy and not share her private medical information with strangers. It’s funny, isn’t it, how sometimes the people who’ve known you the longest are the ones who know you the least?”

Laura gazed at her, not sure whether to smile at the story or be horrified. “And then he left?”

“Well, yes, but not before Nina told us that one in five Americans lives with a mental illness, with the highest proportion being young women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. She probably would have gone into exhaustive detail because that’s how she rolls, but Nick got the message that he’d lost his audience and started sputtering apologies.”

Polly looked at Laura, and her eyes were clear. “And then he left. I will say he looked ashamed of himself. Alcohol can make people say things they regret, you may have noticed that.”

“What about the whole in vino veritas idea?”

Polly sighed and lay flat on her back. “Sure, yeah, but also not. It might be veritas, but it usually isn’t very reliable veritas. Alcohol can loosen your tongue so you say what you’ve been wanting to say, but that isn’t necessarily what you should say, if you get me.”

Laura nodded. “What did Bob say then?”

“Nothing. We all changed the subject. He, Asher, and Libby went out for a drink—I think Nina might have been right about that boy band idea—and she, Anna, Maggie, and I made fun of Madeleine for a straight hour. It was very unsupportive of us, tearing down another woman like that, but it was deeply satisfying.”

Laura sighed. “I wish I was more like you. Or Nina. Or even Maggie. You’re all strong and interesting and funny.”

“I’m not strong,” said Polly, rolling over, surprised. “I can barely lift a box of books, Nina’s always complaining about my noodle arms.” She propped herself on one arm and waved the other like a fusilli.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Hmm,” said Polly, unconvinced.

After a pause, Laura said gingerly, “Polly?”

“Still here,” replied Polly.

“Will you take me shopping for clothes? And maybe . . . to get a haircut?”