Now, when she looked in the mirror, she was happily surprised by what she found there. All along, she’d been a Russian nesting doll: multiple versions of herself tucked neatly one inside the other. She imagined the extremes: an itsy-bitsy Patty, no bigger than a comma, and then a monstrous Patty blimp, its bloated hips and breasts pressing against the edges of outer space.

She liked to imagine Bryan’s reaction, could picture him lifting her off her feet and twirling her in circles, like in the movies. She would be wearing ballet flats and a floral dress that buttoned down the front, revealing a hint of cleavage. She’d actually bought a dress just like this, at a boutique downtown, and was waiting for the middle button to stay fastened. Only ten more pounds. Ten more pounds, and she would be happy—the dress would fit, the diet could end. The problem was that she seemed to have hit a wall. Every morning, no matter how little she ate or how far she’d run the day before, the scale produced the same number: 135. 135. It wasn’t a terrible number, but 125 would be so much better, so much more comfortable. Just ten more pounds and she could message Bryan about the blender. Thank god for the blender. She wasn’t even sure if it was hers—she couldn’t remember buying it.

Then it was December and everything was dead: the trees gave up their leaves, the sky turned the color of ash. She had always loved winters with Bryan, who had been raised on Wonder Bread and Coca-Cola and viewed Christmas as a perk of American capitalism. He wanted all of it: twinkle lights, mistletoe, the frightening animatronic Santa Claus from Walgreens that moaned “Ho Ho Ho!” when you pressed a button on his hat. Of course, this year would be different. Any festivities would be left up to Patty. Kurt was agnostic, more out of laziness than conviction, and Madeline was Jewish.

Patty decided she would get a Christmas tree, to make the apartment less depressing. She found a handsaw and an ax in Kurt’s tool closet and went out into the living room, to put on her snow boots. Madeline and Kurt were sitting on the sofa, glaring at one another. Patty had heard them arguing but they stopped talking as soon as she walked in. Madeline’s cheeks were flushed. There were tears in her eyes.

Patty tried to be quick about the boots.

“What’s with the saw?” Madeline asked, her voice shaky.

“I’m getting a Christmas tree. Just something small.”

“Not happening,” Kurt said. “The needles make my nose itch.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Madeline said, although Patty could see in her eyes that she didn’t care about the tree either way. “Mind if I come with?”

Patty tried to gauge Kurt’s reaction, but he was staring at his own hands. “Sure,” Patty said. “If you want to.”

Madeline hurried from the living room to change.

“Everything all right?” Patty asked Kurt. She was nervous, thinking maybe they had been fighting about her. Every day, she felt more and more certain he was ready to kick her out. It was clear she was starting to annoy him. He kept leaving Post-it notes around the house: “TURN THE COFFEE POT OFF WHEN YOU’RE DONE USING IT.” “CLEAN YOUR HAIR FROM THE SHOWER DRAIN, THANK YOU.”