But instead of going to the store, she changed into a pair of coveralls and headed straight to her studio. Then, shivering, she turned on the gas fireplace, standing close to the blue-orange flames. She rubbed her thumb along the ridges of her necklace, stroking the same spot absently. There was something bothering her, something just out of reach.

For the next few hours, she got lost in her work. When it was time to get ready for the party, she hastily threw together the ingredients for her mother’s couscous salad recipe and went to get dressed. Hopefully, no one would notice that she hadn’t brought the sparkling apple juice. She stared into her closet. Her options ranged from black to gray. Instead of the black, she chose a gray dress so fair it was almost heather, and dug out an earthy cardigan to throw over top. A for effort, she told herself, shrugging. The dress was expensive, but it looked snobby instead of stylish.

Slipping her feet into orange Birkenstocks, she walked back and forth in front of the mirror, sizing herself up. She sent a text to Grant, telling him whoever got home last had to drag the garbage cans to the curb, and she ran for the truck.

Viola and Samantha lived in a ranch house halfway down Tiger Mountain. It took her ten minutes to pull up and another two to gain the courage to enter. Their three-bedroom house was ablaze with orange and cream balloons, dancing in the corners and around the fireplace where a gold-lettered sign was stretched from one side to the other: Baby Makes 3! Rainy swallowed a memory: balloons. Not orange and cream, but blue and yellow. Her head began to swim.

“The sign is dumb, right? Baby makes three what?” Viola said, taking the bowl from Rainy and making a face. “I told them it was stupid, and they looked at me like I was being too emotional.”

“You probably were.” Rainy didn’t have to check Viola’s face like she had to do with other people; Viola always got her jokes.

“Anyway, you look great,” Viola said, eyeing her dress. “You look like a dove in an exotic bird shop.”

Rainy didn’t have time to ask Vi what that meant because Samantha was walking toward them. Samantha—who Viola called Tata—was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a black T-shirt on top of severely ripped jeans. The only thing missing tonight was the beanie, and she guessed Viola had something to do with that. Samantha was the stereotypical Pacific Northwest hipster with a hint of goth, and she wore it well.

“How come Tata gets to wear jeans?” Rainy widened her eyes, letting her mouth fall open in jealousy.