“You won’t be alone.” Anne cups her coffee. “You’ll be with me. We’ll have a girls’ weekend, celebrate your birthday.”

I hate being reminded about my birthday. Nothing in me feels like celebrating this birthday. Forty and divorced? Now there’s a fun concept. “Even if I wanted to celebrate my birthday, Philip would never let you go away for a girls’ trip. You know how he is—”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He doesn’t like you going out for dinner and drinks with your friends. He’s not going to want you taking off for a weekend.”

“He said I could do something for my birthday.”

“With him.”

Anne’s blond hair falls forward, covering half her face. “Philip can’t get away. Work’s too busy. They’re short staffed on his rotation right now.”

“They’ve been short staffed on his rotation since I met you.” Which was roughly six years ago, not that anyone’s counting. I just always remember because I met her shortly after discovering I was pregnant with Jessica and still in that “I’m going to barf any minute” stage.

“Blame insurance companies and lawsuit happy people. Hospitals don’t want to go broke. It’s just too expensive these days.” She sighs. “Sometimes I wish he’d just get out of medicine altogether. What’s the point of being a brilliant surgeon if you can’t pay your bills?”

“You can pay your bills.”

“It’s definitely tighter. When we first married Phil made seventy, seventy-five thousand more than he does now.”

I see her lips compress, jaw firming, and this is what I mean about everyone having problems. Anne married relatively late, made up for lost time by having three babies in quick succession, and tried for a fourth, only to miscarry at the beginning of the fifth month. Since the miscarriage two years ago, Anne’s struggled to lose the weight she’d gained with that final pregnancy, and the extra weight literally weighs heavy on her heart.

She doesn’t feel the same about herself, not fifteen pounds heavier (or twenty, as she claims), but I don’t see the extra pounds. I just see Anne, an amazing person, a true-blue friend, despite her antisugar and organic food fetish.

“I could use the break, too,” she says softly, tucking a thick blond lock behind her ear. “I don’t feel like myself anymore. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You’re busy. You’ve got three kids and they’re all very active and a husband that works long hours.”

Anne makes a hoarse sound and looks up at me, blue eyes wide, intent. “When you were a kid, did you ever think this is what life would be like?”

“No,” I say softly.

She nods slowly. We finish our coffee.