When she wandered back into the living room, Ursa was standing with her nose pressed against the window, whining mournfully. “It’s pouring!” She had a habit of stating the obvious, but in a gloriously funny way. Once, when they’d sat down to a meal of dry chicken and burned rice in the dining room of the blue rambler she’d bought with her fiancé, she’d announced, “The chicken tastes like shit but I’ll be offended if you don’t eat it.” It was funny and true, and they’d all cleaned their plates, smiling through the burned pieces of rice like supportive friends. Rainy had been even newer to the group back then, and she’d been charmed by the beautiful gazelle with no filter. This time, however, Ursa sounded genuinely deflated. Her weekend plans had been derailed, and she was a hundred percent not okay with that.

“So what?” Tara shrugged.

So what? Rainy mimicked to herself. Then, Stop. Be nice. She massaged her temples as a headache tightened behind her eyes.

“The restaurant I booked is an outdoor venue.” Mac was staring at her phone, her thumbnail between her teeth. On the drive from the airport, they had discussed two things: the rain and their hunger.

“Just call them and see if they have a table inside,” Braithe suggested.

Mac’s face was red. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call.” She disappeared into her room with her phone, shutting the door behind her. Everyone busied themselves, either heading to the bathroom or checking their phones while they waited; when Mac walked out of the bedroom ten minutes later, she didn’t look happy. “So, due to the lightning storm, the restaurant we were going to has closed their patio and they don’t have any tables inside.”

“Baaa!” Ursa threw up her hands in defeat.

“Relax, I got us in somewhere else—”

They all cheered, but Mac was holding up her hands to quiet them. “But only at ten o’clock...so I ordered pizza.”

Rainy smiled at Mac’s handling of the situation: bad news delivered by semigood news with a snack as consolation. It seemed to work; everyone accepted the news with optimism, and an hour later they were drinking and scarfing down barbecue chicken pizza like they hadn’t eaten in a week. Ursa put on the hotel robe and was digging around in the minibar while the others propped themselves in armchairs, slices drooping in their hands. To Rainy, it looked like a scene out of a magazine: Tiger Mountain Takes Vegas. The city was the backdrop, spread beneath the windows like a neon quilt. Tara had not looked at her once since they arrived, and it irked the hell out of Rainy, who still remembered the urgency with which Tara had invited her all those weeks back.