Joy shakes her head and slips her shot glass upside down on the bar top. The band onstage launches into a cover from Catharsis, bringing Dylan to mind. He’s been hanging around inside her head a lot lately. The further she and Mark draw apart, the more drawn she is to what could have been with Dylan. “I met someone,” she says.

Taryn almost drops her shot glass on the bar top. “What? When?”

Joy had canceled her Rolling Stone subscription last year. She also skipped watching the Grammys and every other music award show that’s aired, but she hasn’t been able to put Dylan behind her. She hasn’t been able to put any of her past behind her. It clings like static.

“It was a long time ago. We aren’t in touch anymore, but . . .”

“You love him. I can tell just by looking at you.”

Did she? The back of Joy’s neck tingles. She looks down at the empty shot glass on the bar. Joyride’s lyrics cruise through her mind. I knew a girl once . . . treated unfairly . . . thought she was for me.

“I’m not sure what I feel.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dylan.”

“And Mark? Do you love him?”

“Yes, of course.” But she can’t stop thinking about Dylan. That part of the deal they made at JFK has been the most difficult one to honor. Little things always bring him to the forefront of her mind. Something he said will pop up. Or she’ll find herself admiring the magnets from the road trip she kept in her workstation before she realizes that twenty minutes have passed and she’s been lost in memories of that trip and Dylan.

“Are you happy with Mark?”

She opens, then closes her mouth. “It hasn’t been easy with him. We want different things. He wants a family, like yesterday. I want kids, too. Eventually.”

“And you’re wondering what if about this Dylan guy.”

Joy aims Taryn a guilty look. “Exactly.”

“Not that I have any experience, but marriage has more bends and twists than Simone Biles doing a floor routine.”

Joy laughs. “You say the strangest things.”

“It’s true!” Taryn exclaims. She lays a hand over Joy’s. “Listen, Mark loves you. He wants what’s best for you if you give him the chance. That means letting him in. Tell him you’re scared. But there’s something you’ve got to do first if your marriage is going to work.”

“What’s that?”

“Purge Dylan. I have an idea. But first . . .” She flags the bartender and orders two more rounds of liquid courage, then leads them to the fountain in Washington Square Park.

“How does this work?” Joy asks, staring at the gurgling water. City lights shimmer off the surface. Her head spins and she stumbles into Taryn, woozy from the alcohol.

Taryn holds out her hand. “Step number one: give me your phone.”

“Why?”