Jane dragged herself out of the couch. She wasn’t much for going out on a Friday night, and she dreaded this Friday night in particular, when she would have to tell Sheryl that she had zero, no, in fact sub-zero desire—if such a thing were possible—to give a special lecture on writing romance to the University of Sydney’s Creative Writing students.

Because she would have to field the ever-returning question: why not? And she would have to resort to a bunch of self-deprecating comments and make jokes about her lack of charisma, even though Jane had come to terms with who she was—and had lost the need to apologize for herself in the process.

It had taken her a while to accept that she almost always preferred her own company over the company of others, because society had a tendency to reward extroverted people, of which she was the polar opposite. Yet, when requests like these came along—disguised as great honors—she always felt she needed to justify herself, simply for being her. And when was the last time an extrovert had to come up with an excuse for who they were?

“You look great,” Annie said to her after Jane had changed out of her “home wear” into the same old jeans and blouse she wore for outside activities.

“I look the same as I always do,” Jane said, knowing very well she sounded like a petulant child.

“You always look fab, babe. Come on.” Annie headed back into the kitchen. “Almost forgot the wine.”

Before Sheryl had left the shop last night, she had assured them it was okay to bring and drink wine in her presence, even though she was a recovering alcoholic. Jane was pleased about that. Evenings like this were hard to get through without partaking of a few alcoholic beverages. One glass of wine was usually enough to put her at ease. The second would take away enough of her inhibitions so she could emerge from her usual reserved state and enjoy the company of others without constantly second-guessing herself and what she should say.

Kristin opened the door to them and Annie gave her the bottle of wine, which made at least one possible awkward moment pass. Imagine having to hand the bottle to Sheryl? It was one thing to have permission to drink in front of her, but yet another entirely to shove a bottle of wine into a recovering alcoholic’s hands.

Kristin kissed them both on the cheeks and led them in. Sheryl was more forward with her greeting and wrapped them both in a lingering embrace.

Jane witnessed how Annie cast her glance around the living room. Her eyes had grown wide. The place did look like an interior designer had just passed through to make some last-minute finishing touches and arrange everything just so.

“This place is amazing,” Annie said.