“I do. Marley is going to have to take some responsibility for herself. You, along with everyone else, don’t deserve to worry more about her bad choices than she does. Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll call her and you’ll see she’s fine.” Olivia flipped open her phone and dialed her sister’s number. After four rings, it went to voice mail. “Hey, Mar, it’s Liv. I met up with Con for dinner, and we were thinking about you. Call me when you get this.”

She snapped the phone closed. “There.”

Conrad actually looked a little more relieved. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just she sounded . . . not good.”

“But that was weeks ago. She’s better. She said she’s going to rehab.” Too many times, Olivia had seen her sister looking worn down, just done with trying to shake her addiction. One time she’d seen track marks on Marley’s arms, and her sister had that haunting look of heroin addiction. That discovery had both squeezed her heart and made her angry. Why was Marley doing this to herself? Why wouldn’t she let Olivia help her? And then she’d called and sounded like her old self. Olivia wanted to hope that it was true—that her sister was finally ready to get help. “She’ll call. More wine?”

Conrad nodded, and they’d sat drinking not only that bottle but a few beers she’d hidden behind the diet cranberry juice. Eventually, they’d turned on Saturday Night Live, and their mood shifted with the antics of Fred Armisen and Amy Poehler. She’d eventually laid her head on Conrad’s shoulder, and he’d wrapped an arm around her. They’d both been well into a second beer when they’d kissed.

For her, it had been absolute magic.

By some unspoken agreement, they’d kissed again. And again. Eventually they’d shed clothes until there was no going back. Afterward, as the television flickered over them and the empty wine bottle had been knocked to the floor, Conrad whispered, “I never knew.”

The incredulity in his voice had made her smile because she’d always known they’d be so good together. They were soul mates. To her, their being together had been quite obvious.

Retreating to her bedroom, they’d raided the pantry for OREOs and shared the iPod earbuds, listening to the music they used to dance to as kids. They made love again, this time savoring each other, exploring the smooth span of a back, the silky softness of an inner arm, and when they were exhausted, giddy with something newfound and wonderful, they’d curled into each other and slept until the sun rose high in the California sky.