“Oh, come on, Lily. Did we not, like five minutes ago, have a conversation about being obliterated, in part, by men? About what happens when women let themselves fade into the background? Lie down for him and you’ll get stepped over for the rest of your life.”

“I’m not getting back together with him! It’s just a drink.”

“Well sometimes for you a drink means six. And who knows what you’ll do after that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m just saying, he doesn’t deserve you. And yeah, that’s a cliché thing women say to one another, but it’s true most of the time. I know he’s this hotshot artist, but he’s a shitty person. And don’t say I don’t know him. I know enough about him from three minutes in his company to know what’s up. And you’re my friend. You deserve better.”

I wasn’t sure what made me so annoyed. Probably that I knew she was right. Despite myself, I also felt a thrill at Emily calling me her friend. “Let’s not talk about what I deserve, please. We all deserve better than what we get, okay? You, me, everyone. It’s really just a drink, and nothing more. I’m not reading anything into it. It’s not like I agreed to marry the guy and cook his dinner every night of my life.”

“Suit yourself,” she said. I hated the chill in her voice.

I banged the wire basket onto the ground and turned my back, focused again on the display. Emily huffed around the corner. We went through the next few hours that way, separated by the glass partition: her at the desk, me in the boutique.

“Looks good,” she said.

“Thanks.” I hated that we weren’t speaking, but I didn’t know how to explain. We were silent until my lunch break, the only sounds the clacking of the new compacts and Emily’s occasional sigh.

I was on my way to the caf when Clara intercepted me in the hall.

“Hey, what’s up? Did you get my text?”

She looked terrible—violet circles under her eyes. “This can’t wait until the end of your stupid shift, Lily. I told you that this is important. I shouldn’t even be here. You shouldn’t even be here. It’s dangerous. I need your help. I mean it. I don’t want him to see me.” I hadn’t forgotten about her text, exactly, but since Matthew came in I’d been distracted, my mind running on a single track. What would I say to him? How could I possibly try to save face? Plus, the library trip, and then all this buzz about the spa visit, Emily’s voice breaking when she talked about ending up like her mom.