I glare at him. “Good. You can have ‘em.”

“They’re trying to be supportive and cheer you up,” Becca says. “We just want you to be happy again.”

“I know, I know.” I blow out a puff of air and lift my chin. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

We step inside the bar and I plaster a smile on my face. One thing my marriage taught me is how to hide my emotions from anyone and everyone. I’ve become so good at lying, even to myself, I could probably pass a lie detector test. I’d be a valuable asset if the CIA ever wanted me.

My friends wave excitedly, dressed to the nines with hair and makeup on point. We are the epitome of women in their thirties. It’s like we’re stuck in limbo: Too old to let loose the way we did in our twenties, but too young to feel content at home with a pair of knitting needles.

I cringe as I gaze up at the six shimmery gold balloons, each of them broadcasting my humiliating news to the entire bar: I’m not with stupid anymore. Divorced AF. Ditched the dick. Unhitched. Just divorced. Legally single.

To make matters worse, Kerry’s holding a black sash. I don’t know what it says yet, but I wonder if it’d be strong enough to act as a noose.

“Congrats, mama!” Kerry raises the sash above my head.

I duck out of the way. “I love you, Kerr, but I’m not putting that thing on. The balloons are more than enough.”

Her cheerful expression falls. “Here.” She shoves a mixed drink into my hand. “Maybe you’ll change your mind after a few of these.”

Mary, Andrea, and Sammi offer me smiles laced with pity.

“Oh, no,” I say, waving my free hand. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s done and over with. Let’s just forget about it.”

“How did it go today?” Andrea asks.

“Quick and easy. If you ladies ever need to get divorced, the Divorce Center is the way to go.”

“Good to know,” Kerry says. “I’ll make that the new threat I throw at Brad the next time he decides to stay out late after work.”

“He’s still doing that?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” Kerry raises her glass. “To Rae. Let’s get you laid tonight.”

I shake my head but drink to her toast anyway.

“What?” she asks. “The best way to get over someone …”

“She just got divorced,” Sammi says. “Give her some time.”

“I need to lose this weight first.” I gesture to my stomach. I’m wearing a flowy top, but we’ve all seen the bulge underneath that’s currently hanging over the waistband of my jeans.

“Oh, thank God,” Kerry says, wiping her forehead for effect. “I was hoping you weren’t accepting this as your new physique.”