“Every woman in this country obsesses about her body. You can’t live in our society without obsessing.”

It occurred to Lucy that she was so screwed up about so many other things—what she owed her family, what she owed herself, and how she was supposed to balance the two—that she didn’t have time for serious body-image issues. “I’m not into heavy workouts. I guess I have my own exercise philosophy. The ‘Good Enough’ approach.”

Temple looked as though Lucy had cockroaches crawling over her, and even though Lucy knew it was useless to explain, she gave it a try. “I believe exercise is important, but I’m not training for a triathlon, just for general fitness. And when I make exercise drudgery, I stop altogether.”

“You should force yourself.”

“I’m pretty happy being weak-willed.” Lucy considered suggesting that Temple might not be quite so miserable if she tried a little more of the “Good Enough” approach. The Evil Queen’s weight gain couldn’t be accidental, and the social worker inside Lucy wondered what had happened to make Temple lose that iron self-control.

But Temple couldn’t comprehend Lucy’s laid-back attitude, and Lucy took advantage of her temporary speechlessness to switch the subject. “I have a twelve-year-old friend who tends to pop up here uninvited.”

Temple’s eyes widened in alarm. “That can’t happen.”

“Without an electric fence surrounding the property, it’ll be hard to keep him out. I told him I have a girlfriend visiting, so if he shows up, he won’t think it’s strange that you’re here.”

“You don’t understand! No one can see me!”

“I doubt that he’s part of your fan base.”

“Panda!” Temple screeched. “Panda, get in here.”

Panda took all kinds of time wandering in.

Temple jabbed her hand at Lucy. “I can’t deal with this now. Take care of it!” She stormed out and pounded up the stairs two at a time.

Instead of addressing the subject at hand, Panda gazed around at the living room. “What happened to my furniture?”

“What furniture?”

“The furniture that used to be in here.”

“Describe it.”

“What do you mean, ‘describe it’?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Describe the furniture that used to be in here.”

“A couch. Some chairs. Where is it?”

“What color was the couch?”

He gritted his teeth. “It was a couch. It was couch-colored. What did you do with it?”

“If you told me what it looked like,” she said with exaggerated patience, “I might remember.”

“It looked like a couch!” he exclaimed.

“You don’t remember,” she said triumphantly. “You don’t have a clue what anything in this room looked like. What anything in this house looks like. None of this means anything to you.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I know I had a couch and now it’s gone.”