I feel oddly possessive over Exalted, like Beth is coming on to my girlfriend. I decide not to tell either of them that Exalted read my chart. Exalted said I could be secretive, I think because of my Scorpio moon.

“She did the signs as dog breeds,” Steph says.

“Oooh,” I say, gulping my champagne. “I didn’t see that one.” I’m irrationally jealous again. “What’s your sign again, Beth?” I assume it’s something boring, like Taurus or Capricorn. Steph is a Leo like me. In high school we told people we were twins.

“Virgo,” Beth says. I was close. I remember Exalted said my Venus is in Virgo. I hope I’m nothing like Beth. The point is I’m powerful and psychic, a lion and a witch.

“What dogs are we?” I ask Steph. She opens up Instagram on her phone and pulls her glasses closer to her face. We’re old now, no longer teens, no longer twins.

“Beth is an Italian greyhound,” Steph says.

Beth frowns. “Those are kind of weird looking.”

“The description says ‘slim, nervous, understated,’” Steph continues. “That does sound like you.”

I giggle, and Beth squirms like a nervous Italian greyhound. Exalted is good. I’m so desperate to know what she looks like.

“Dawnie, we’re Rhodesian ridgebacks,” Steph says.

“Huh?” I ask. I’ve never heard of that breed, and I don’t feel like pretending I have.

“I didn’t know what it was either,” says Steph.

“Oh, my neighbor used to have them growing up,” says Beth, the know-it-all. “They’re really beautiful”—she sips her drink—”and a little scary!”

Steph shows me the picture: a large tan dog jumping into the air on the beach. It looks like a lion.

“It is beautiful,” I say. Exalted always makes me feel good about myself.

Steph takes the phone back. “Her description says ‘protective, loyal’”—Steph pauses and smiles—”‘and they’ll eat the furniture if they don’t get enough attention.’”

Steph and I burst out laughing, and my anger starts to fade.

Before long, I’ve consumed both bottles of Cook’s, or, like, thirteen flutes’ worth, and Steph and I can’t stop laughing. After dinner, Beth excuses herself to bed.

“Virgo,” I mumble under my breath when she leaves.

Beth’s food was bland, but I pretended to like it because I was buzzed and wanted to please her. Steph and I laughed a lot at dinner, telling war stories from the glory days. Beth alternated between seeming bored and irritated the whole time.

When Beth goes to bed, Steph pours us both tequila shots. Finally, the party is getting started. I wish I had a romantic prospect. I’m horny as hell, but Steph is like my sister, my twin. Also, her girlfriend is upstairs.

The tequila burns in my chest, and I can’t stop thinking about sex. “I wish we had some girls to call,” I say.