Steph is lounging on a green chair, sipping a cocktail, staring at her phone, probably Instagram, hopefully Exalted, who never responded to my email, but that’s okay. I can try again. She always says her “DMs are open.”

“What can I get you to drink, Dawn?” Beth asks while Steph is still looking at her phone. Their French bulldog, Pierre, runs over to me. I lean down to pet him, even though I think the dog is annoying and ugly. Who names their dog Pierre? It’s so snooty. I remember my night at Chez Pierre with the homophobic bartender. I hate the French. But I still want to go to the French Riviera. Maybe with Exalted.

“Cook’s is good,” I say, trying not to sound aggressive. “Unless you have anything fancier.” I wink my signature wink.

“Dawnie,” Steph says, finally looking up.

She stands to hug me, and my instinct is to recoil. I take a deep breath to stomach the hug. I thought about pregaming, but I knew it would be a bad idea given how angry I still am. Occasionally I make mature decisions.

“Take a seat,” she says, and I sit in the lounge chair beside her. Beth disappears into the kitchen, thank God. “How have you been?”

Ugh, I don’t want to answer this question. I’m still working at the Blind Pig. I have no romantic prospects. My son is avoiding me and my sad life. I am ready to give up. I don’t like to be depressed. Depression is for losers. I am Dawn Webster. I am supposed to be happy and bright, a ray of sunshine, the life of the party.

“I’m great,” I lie. “Enjoying the single life.”

“You’ve never had any issues picking up women,” Steph says, then looks ashamed. I know we’re both thinking about the night at Jay’s Bar when Steph ruined everything.

“Were you looking at Exalted?” I ask. We’re both fans of the account.

“I was!” she says, seeming relieved I changed the subject. “How did you know?”

Beth returns outside with a champagne flute in one hand and a goblet in the other. Beth is very skinny—anorexic, I think—and drinks only clear liquor—vodka soda, that sort of thing. She hands me the champagne and sits on the lounge chair beside Steph.

“Thanks, Beth,” I say, but I’m annoyed by the flute. It’s snooty and doesn’t hold enough liquid. I’ll need six of these to get buzzed.

“What did I miss?” Beth asks. She pulls Pierre up to her lap.

“We were talking about Exalted,” Steph says.

“God, I love her,” says Beth. Pierre slobbers on her lap. “Anything good recently?”