Gabe was laughing now, and she felt a little thrill. This rich, distinguished lawyer thought she was cute. And funny. And maybe she kind of was?

“Surely, that’s not true,” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. “They must miss you.”

Nat thought about the night Cole had broken into their home. The fear, the panic, the anger. Her mother had forgiven her, but Derek hadn’t. While he never articulated his resentment, he blamed her, it was clear. He’d nearly beaten an innocent kid to death. He was distant, cold, aloof. They were all better off without her.

“They don’t,” she said.

The restaurant manager reappeared then. (Apparently, Gabe was a VIP and could not be served by a mere waiter.) “Another drink?” the man suggested.

Gabe smiled at her. Those teeth. Those crinkly eyes. “What do you think, Natalie?”

She looked down at her glass, surprisingly close to empty. She was drunk, but pleasantly so. The booze made her feel warm and confident. Her date made her feel special. She’d planned to spend an hour with this man, get the money, and go home. But there was no rule against enjoying herself just a little. Glancing toward her sneering, judgmental neighbor, Nat found the dark-haired woman engrossed in her meal, the debauchery a few tables over, forgotten. Nat turned back to her date.

“Why not?”

10

The Morning After

As soon as Nat opened her eyes, a swell of regret engulfed her. Through the pounding in her temples, the date came back to her in snippets. Gabe’s white teeth. His intense blue eyes on her. She’d been telling him stories, making him laugh. Stories about what? Blaine. Perfect little Oliver and Astrid. But the end of the night was blank. How had she gotten home? Had she called an Uber? Hopped in a cab? If she couldn’t remember that, what else was she forgetting?

A wave of nausea washed over her—from the alcohol, from shame, from self-loathing. How had she fucked this up? It was supposed to be one drink, one hour, five hundred dollars. Instead, she’d gotten blackout drunk and ruined everything. A slip of a memory flashed through her mind. She was stumbling out of the bar, strong hands on her elbow, on the small of her back. Did those hands belong to Gabe? Or the bar manager? One of them must have dumped her into a taxi.

Rolling over, she was able to reach her purse, nestled among the clutter of clothes, books, and pencils on her floor. Dragging it toward her, she fished for her phone, found it. She checked the time: 12:14 P.M. Opening her e-mail, she found no Uber receipt. So a taxi must have brought her home. Had Gabe paid for it? Or had she paid for it out of the money he’d given her? If he’d given her any money. She’d been drunk, messy, babbling . . . Even she didn’t think she deserved remuneration.

As she dug for her wallet, she heard a knock at the front door. Nat didn’t get up. It was a Saturday, so Mara and Toni were likely home, studying, cleaning, alphabetizing the cereal cupboard. And it wouldn’t be for her, anyway. Nat’s friends from school didn’t live in the area. Miguel hated her and would not be dropping by. She recognized the quick, thumping footsteps of Toni, hurrying to answer the insistent knock.