Nicole groaned.

“What about journalism? Remember when you worked on the school paper?”

Nicole took the résumé from my hands and crumpled it up. Her mood grew heavy.

I quickly changed the subject. “Hey, remember I told you about that guy Pallucci I used to date?”

“Yeah.”

“He had a Pilates machine in the bedroom.” I raised my eyebrows.

“You’re kidding.”

“Seriously. It was the only time in my life I worked out.”

Nicole managed a laugh. “They should put that on an infomercial.”

“Too bad Brett…” I caught myself. “Hey, I’m gonna make another drink.” I rose from the chair and slipped on my flip-flops. “Last one, I swear,” I said, crossing my heart.

Nicole followed me into the kitchen. “What?”

“Huh?” I took a fresh can of tomato juice from the fridge, poured the juice into my glass, and added a generous amount of vodka.

“You were about to say something.”

“Um…” I skirted dangerous territory. “I was going to say that I ought to get one for our gym, but…” I was out at sea with no way back to shore. The alcohol had loosened me up and with all the intimate conversation Nicole and I had lately, I was like a shaken soda can about to explode. “Brett’s not the adventurous type.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s kind of old-fashioned.”

“You mean lousy in bed?”

“Nicole! No. Not at all. He just likes things that are…normal, you know, just nothing fancy or—”

“Kinky.”

“Right.”

“But you do have sex?”

“Of course,” I said defensively, “but…”

“But?” Nicole raised her eyebrows.

“Well, it’s not as—”

“Creative?”

“Or as often as it could be.” I let out a huge sigh as a thousand pounds dropped off my shoulders from the confession to Nicole.

Nicole rinsed out her bowl and put it in the dishwasher. She laughed and shook her head.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just that, you know, by looking at him you would think—”

“I know,” I said. “Nicole?”

“What?”

“Please, whatever you do, do not repeat this conversation. Seriously, Nic. If that got out it would kill him. Even if it were just a rumor—”

“Jackie, stop it. Who would I tell? You’re the only friend I have.”

I began to tremble.

“Jax, are you okay?”

I shook my head and wobbled over to the kitchen stool, sat down hard, and burst into tears.

“Sorry,” I cried, “I’m really fine.”

Nicole pulled me into her arms.

“I’m okay,” I said sobbing into her armpits. I cried so hard I felt like my guts would come loose. I’d only wailed like this twice before in my lifetime—the break-up with Peter and the afternoon my mother left. But now I cried because Nicole was my only friend too—the only person who really knew me. From the day we met by the shore huddled under that beach towel, we had always only had each other.