“Vegas is not my thing. Trust me, I’m not fun, not even a little bit. Look, you sat me next to the pregnant woman—you all know it’s true in your hearts.” That brought a cry of outrage from Viola, and a few laughs from the others.

“That is not true, Rainy! We love hanging with you!” This came from Mackenzie, who was always positive, always inclusive. She was married to Bryan Biggs, a software engineer; the group fondly called them BigMac.

Rainy reached for the cheese, slamming back a mouthful to buy herself time. They wouldn’t understand this, her hesitation. They had just emerged from a bitter winter, and everyone was jumping at the chance to travel again. She should want to go. Any normal person would want to go.

“Well, we certainly aren’t going to force you to come,” Braithe said a little hesitantly. Her face was conflicted but Rainy couldn’t tell why. She was a fairweather member of the group and they’d always been okay with that.

“But I for one am going. And you know what else? I’m not going to feel bad about all the money I’m going to lose at the slot machines...and I plan on losing a lot of it, more than last time.” She pointed around the table, daring anyone to contest, and Rainy breathed a sigh of relief. She owed Braithe one. The banter continued, and the air of planning descended on the group. Rainy was content to listen to them talk about it, laughing when Tara and Ursa got into an argument about setting drink limits, so no one would be chaperoning anyone else.

“Last time we were there I had to drag you back to the room as you vomited into my bag,” Tara complained.

“Well, leave me where I am next time and mind your business,” Ursa shot back. “Besides, I am not sitting at a slot machine pressing buttons the first time I get a vacation in two years. Send me to a club and let me dance!”

She spotted the time on Braithe’s range right as they were discussing hotels and stood up a little too abruptly; her chair screeched painfully against the floor.

“Rainy, no! Stay longer!” Tara said. Her teeth were stained purple, like she’d been feasting on the wine instead of drinking it.

“I have to go let Shep out.” The planned excuse tumbled easily out of her mouth. She wanted to give herself a congratulatory pat on the back.

Tara had a poodle named Stacey that she treated better than most parents treated their kids. She nodded right away like she understood.

“Promise us you’ll at least think about it, okay?” Tara was smiling, the blond daggers of hair contrasting with the sweetness of her tone.