“Not lame—responsible.”

“Lame.”

“Shut up.”

A companionable, sorrowful, angry silence.

“I’m gonna sell the house. Get a condo downtown.” She flaps a hand. “It’s too much house for one little old lady.”

“Little old lady my ass.”

“It’s too much house.”

“I know.”

“Nads?”

“Tess-icles?”

“You know I’ll be here for you. No matter what.”

“I know. Same.”

“Am I allowed to be angry at him for you?”

“No.”

“You’re too nice.”

“He’s my husband.”

A sigh. “Yes, he is.”

“Condoms, Tess. They’re not just for pregnancy. You also don’t want syphilis.”

“Shush. I know. I’m forty-two, hon, I know how safe sex works.”

“You do not. You’ve never slept with anyone but Clint.”

“Have too.”

I sit up and look at her. “You have? Who?”

“We were on a break.” She snickers at the Friends reference. “It was freshman year of college. I fucked a guy on my debate team.”

“Oh. Oh god. And how was that?”

She snorts. “There’s a reason I went back to Clint. He’s a douchebag, and I’m realizing he always has been. But god, the man can screw like nobody’s business.”

“Well, like more than just your business, it seems.”

“Too soon, Nads. Too soon.”

“No it isn’t.”

She snickers. “No, it’s not.”

I sigh. “I’m gonna go.”

“You should wait a bit longer. It’s only a few blocks, but still.”

“I’ll walk.”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“We could borrow Rufus. Toby is always awake till at least two.”

Toby: Her gay next-door neighbor owns Rufus, a Rottweiler the size of a 747. The dog is sweet as sugar to Tess and me, but to anyone else? Don’t get too close, is all I’m saying.

“Good plan.”

Toby answers the door wearing a pink kimono, sipping something vividly orange from a martini glass. “Ladies? Here to party, are we?” His voice is deep, smooth, and masculine—not a hint of a lisp or affectation. You wouldn’t know his orientation from talking to him, or seeing him in his business suit at nine in the morning.

“We already did our partying,” Tess says.

He glances up and to the side, thinking. “Oh. That party.”

“Right.”

“And you’re out of booze? I’m making these martinis. I could whip up another batch.”

“Actually, we just need to borrow Rufus so we can walk Nadia home.”

“Ah. By all means. Rufus!” He calls the dog like you’d call for a person in another room. There’s a scrabbling of paws on hardwood, and a short-furred brown bear appears next to Toby. “You want to go for a walk?”

Rufus barks, and I feel the bass of it in my gut.

“Say his name, pat your thigh, and tell him to heel,” Toby tells Tess. “He’ll stick right by you.”