The tavern is cool inside. Temperature-wise. Decor-wise, not so much. Fishing nets hang from a couple of the corners and over the bar, with plastic seaweed and fish stuck in them. I get that they’re going for irony, a self-aware kitsch, but come on. The fake treasure chest at the end of the bar, in front of the painting of mermaids with huge boobs basking on a rock, is, in my humble opinion, a little too tacky. But I like the dark wood of the bar and the green velvet on the chairs and stools.

I lean against the bar, casual as hell, but behind my back I’m gripping it like I’m afraid gravity’s about to fail. I scan the booths. It’s much roomier in here than it looks from the outside. The blond Swans are sitting in a booth near the entrance with a bottle in an ice bucket. I wonder if the three of them ever do anything on their own. But it must be nice, having a little group. It must feel like always knowing where you are. They’re all really beautiful. I wonder if that’s a condition for entry to their clique.

Frances and Ernie are sitting together, both reading books. Ernie’s smoking a pipe. It smells like Christmas, which I guess is why they let him get away with smoking inside. Oh God, Gretchen will probably be here. I know she won’t tell Rose what a bitch I was this afternoon but I should say sorry anyway. Keep the peace.

The blond Swans have stopped talking. I try to turn my body away from them and angle my head so I can look at them without looking like I’m looking at them. I need to see if they’re looking at me, if they’ve gone quiet because they’re whispering about me—wondering if they should say something, wondering what I’m doing here, and what I’m still doing here. But I’m not doing anything. I haven’t done anything wrong. Rose invited me. It’s not my fault.

Shit, Frances looks up from her book and catches my eye. She waves, elbows Ernie, and he waves too. They’re smiling and they almost look like they want me to come over, but that must be wishful thinking, and in a few seconds they’re looking back down at their books. I just want to be somewhere on earth where I’m not seconds away from getting kicked out or moved on or beaten up or pushed around until I give up and slink away.

Behind me someone clears their throat. It’s Lyall. I turn to find a silent question in his single lifted eyebrow and pursed lips.