Lauren was embarrassed by her outbursts, always, but she hadn’t known that Graham was just as embarrassed. When they met, he’d struck her as the kind of guy who didn’t give a shit what people thought of him. But maybe Graham had developed some self-awareness since Ketchup. Maybe it had something to do with Gracie’s opinions. Or maybe it had always been there and Lauren was just now seeing his true colors. They’d only been together two years. She often worried they hadn’t had enough time together as just a couple before the baby came. She’d asked him about that lately: Did he regret having kids so quickly with her? What about his past girlfriends? Graham had mentioned a few long-term relationships, but he said they were nothing much. A woman who now lived in Florida came up. A trip to Italy with another girlfriend to take pasta-making classes was mentioned, then dropped. Did he fantasize about these women now? Did he think about how much fun he used to have with these women, all the outings, all the sex, none of the baby, none of the crazy?

The note in the backpack clearly wasn’t helping her mental state. If only Lauren had someone to bounce theories off of. Her first instinct was to call her mother . . . but say what? Her mother’s lack of phone calls felt pointed, though Lauren wasn’t sure why. Oh, that one, she doesn’t need our help, maybe. She wondered, sometimes, if Joanne judged her for waiting so long, or moving to California, or having a career—who the hell knew? She was in a little cabal with Lauren’s sisters—they traded recipes and baby clothes and holiday schedules, and Lauren always thought they were gossiping about her. She wanted to think her mom would keep something like this to herself, but honestly, she really wasn’t sure.

After Graham left the spa, Lauren let the receptionist guide her into the dressing area. “Lockers are here.” She handed Lauren a terry robe. “And feel free to use our eucalyptus room.”

“Thanks.” Lauren whipped open a locker, shoved in the box of bath bombs Graham insisted she accept, and kicked off her clogs. Her resentment felt childish. She should be grateful to have time to herself. She knotted the robe around her waist and padded into the waiting area, which offered lemon-and-cucumber-infused tea and mixed nuts in contained little cups. A few women were already lounging on chairs spaced widely apart. Lauren avoided making eye contact. She didn’t quite feel like she deserved to be here.

“Mrs. Smith?”