“Really? They’re good today.”

“It’s like crack at the moment, Ocky. One bite and I’m ten pounds up.” How often do I have to say it, Marissa wondered.

“You’re obsessed about calories.”

Sharply, Marissa answered, “I have to be.” It’s gotten results, she could have said too. But maybe—and the thought was simultaneously a slap and a comfort—Ocky really didn’t notice how she looked. More calmly she added, “Better to be obsessed with what I won’t eat than what I will.”

Ocky shrugged. “Seems like an obsession either way, but you’re the one with the nutritionist and the new friends.”

Was Ocky jealous of the women at the gym and her weekly weight bitch session? “Maybe. I just know I’m healthier.”

Ocky had moved on. “It’s not like I haven’t invested, though I know you’ve put in more.”

“I know—for the first five years you did all the public contact. You were the front woman for it all. I know that. We both worked hundred-hour weeks. And you’ve put in capital too. I know you’ve got as much at stake as I do. It’s not about that. I just need a place of my own. I want to put out my own welcome mat.” She sipped her iced coffee, savoring the chill and bitter edge.

“Are you seeing someone?” Ocky leaned back with a considering look. “You’ve been dressing to the nines lately.”

Okay, it was pleasing to know that Ocky did actually see her in detail and not just as a vague outline labeled Marissa. “I’ve been doing lots of presentations. And . . .” She shrugged. “And discovering there are things I like about myself now. Better than before. I like shoes.” She cracked a smile. “Nearly as much as you.”

Ocky finished the brownie. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Instead of “What’s it to you?” Marissa said, without mentioning the ten women listed on her personal Finder’s Keepers analysis as Highly Compatible Profiles, “I’m dating a little bit. But if I wanted to, I’d like to live somewhere I’m proud to invite people in. And my apartment complex—you know what the place is like.”

Ocky sighed. “Yeah, I do. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We’ll get a loan or something.”

Relief welled up inside Marissa, so much so that she thought she might drown. She rarely won these kinds of arguments with Ocky. “Thanks for understanding. I really was going to bring it up at our next sit down.”

“This counted.”

Watching her friend’s face, Marissa said again, “You do look tired.”

“Last night—jeez. Major crying jag and I never the hell knew what it was about. I hate that.”

“Had she been drinking?”

“No.” Ocky cast her gaze heavenward. “There might have been something about me not being around enough but it’s not like I’m not up front about how much I work.”

The tale sounded all too familiar to Marissa. “Perhaps you should get involved with women who are themselves workaholics.”

“Easy to say.” Marissa tried not to watch as Ocky’s tongue wetted her lips. “They don’t often have legs that go from here to Argentina.”