“Sorry, Jess. I always appreciate the invite, but my answer is still going to be no. Always,” I said as I followed her inside the house. I never understood why Jess would willingly work out in a building without air-conditioning, doing exercises that mirrored the worst days of gym class. Most of the other moms in Winchester took barre classes, running around town after their workouts in high-waisted Lululemon leggings and tank tops with built-in bras while drinking kombucha.

Jess opened her mouth to espouse the wonders of CrossFit just before Liz rushed forward, arms outstretched.

“There you guys are!” She looked down at our shoes, and we quickly added them to the pile next to the front door. Liz’s entire first floor had white carpeting, impressive since she had two energetic boys: Carson, who was seven, and Luke—their oops baby—who had just turned two.

Liz placed our bottles on the kitchen island, next to a collection of air plants in a raffia basket that she had gotten on sale at HomeGoods. The island was covered in an almost embarrassing amount of food for four people. If nothing else, no one would ever go hungry at her house, although I knew she overprepared out of anxiety rather than hospitality. Once, she’d run out of toilet paper during a party and nearly had a meltdown.

Jess poured herself a tequila on the rocks as she scrolled through her phone for a playlist. She made a new one each month for our get-togethers, titled “Suburban Lady Jams,” and filled it with whatever new songs had just been released.

Liz turned to me, her brunette topknot making her seem taller than her five feet. “I have wine open already.” She pointed to her fridge, and I opened the white door and saw a box of pink wine on the shelf, spigot waiting.

I could already feel the pounding headache from the liquefied candy inside the box, but I didn’t want to turn her down. Liz was a sensitive soul who’d worked as a pediatric nurse before she had kids, and her feelings would be hurt if I declined. I gritted my teeth as I stuck a goblet large enough to double as a vase under the spigot and watched as bright pink liquid sloshed into it. I smiled at her over the glass before I took a sip. The sugar immediately went into every groove of my teeth, straight to the nerves, like chewing on aluminum foil.

“Yum,” I said as I forced a smile, and Liz beamed. I could see Jess smirk in my peripheral vision as she pulled a lemon out of her bag, halved it with one of the sharp kitchen knives from the block on the countertop, and squeezed it into her drink. We might both regret our decisions come the next morning, but me definitely more than her.