I watch Scarlett closely, searching for some hint of something, a sign of how she’s feeling, but she goes on smiling like she’s fine.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this shower was a good idea. Maybe she’s grateful for it.

She opts in to opening presents in front of everyone, so maybe she’s been body-snatched, because the Scarlett I know would never. Her coworkers chipped in and bought her a stroller. Joann bought her a crib. Ash got her some diaper device.

I dig holes in my palms with my fingernails. They heal as fast as I can make them. I feel the skin break. I feel it come back together. It doesn’t hurt. It just is.

After presents, we get cake. Scarlett is made to cut it for some superstitious reason.

“Didn’t it kind of look like a dick?” I whisper in her ear as she passes a plate.

“Everything looks like a dick to you,” she whispers back.

“Stop whispering about dicks,” Mom says. She hands me a piece.

I give the plate to Ash.

“You don’t want any?” she asks me. “It’s good cake! Have some.”

“I’m keto,” I say.

“It’s your sister’s shower,” Mom says. “For fuck’s sake, have a piece of cake.”

I can smell it. Sugary. Lemony. Gross. I want steak. Or a burger. Rare. Juicy. The thought alone has me drooling.

“No, thank you,” I say, wiping saliva from my bottom lip and ignoring my mother’s death stare. I forget Scarlett isn’t the originator of that stare. Mom is.

At around four o’clock, people start trickling out, until it’s only me, Mom, Scarlett, Ash and Joann.

“Did you invite her?” I ask Ash when the two of us are alone at the mimosa bar, which is now just an array of empty bottles.

“No,” she says. “Cyndi.”

“I’m so mad, I can’t see straight.”

“I understand,” Ash says, patting my hand. “But it turned out fine. Scarlett had a good time, right?”

I can’t tell if the anger is for Scarlett, on her behalf, or if it’s for me. It’s just there, hovering like a radioactive cloud.

“I should load the car,” Mom says.

“We’ll help,” Ash says, volunteering me.

I lift the crib box with one arm.

“Careful. That’s heavy,” Joann says.

“Not for me.” I take the stroller with my free hand.

“Damn,” Ash says.

I load as much as I can into Scarlett’s Prius and the rest into my car.

“Why doesn’t Mom go with you?” Scarlett says, putting her bag down in the passenger seat. “I don’t really have room.”

“All right,” I say. “Cyndi, you’re with me.”

“I was going to hang back and help Ashley clean up,” Mom says.

“Oh, no worries,” Ash says. “I like to clean. It’s my me time.”

“Ash, I love you, but that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say.

“Aurora!” Mom squeals.

“I’m taking you out drinking. A proper night out,” I tell Ash. I give her a hug. “Thank you for everything.”