“Vicki says she’s ugly, but I think she’s pretty,” Hannah shout-whispered, hyperventilating into the receiver, her voice shaky.

She followed the statement by giving herself a quick fix from her inhaler. Anyone besides Rob might have thought the sharp burst of air was simply the sound of Hannah’s heavy breathing, but he recognized it as her albuterol routine. It was the familiar exhale, puff, and inhale that he’d hear in the middle of the night years ago when he’d knocked on Hannah’s door and slept over. Her dependence on the puffer reminded him of the geeky kids in elementary school who had allergic reactions to bee stings, except for the fact that Hannah was a grown woman who had always looked strangely unnatural using the inhaler in sexy pajamas, with her cleavage spilling over her silk tank top as she took two puffs and then fell asleep next to him.

“Don’t abuse that thing,” Rob responded smugly. “It’ll stop working.”

Hannah let out an exasperated sigh that ended with a croaky cough. “Between the stress and the pollen and the fact that everyone at this wedding smokes, I haven’t been able to stop using my inhaler.

“That said, the rest of me feels fantastic,” she continued, her voice higher. “The maid of honor gave me some magic pills.”

Rob set the magazine down next to him and sat up straight. Pills would explain why Hannah sounded so manic. She’d always been high strung, but today her voice was uncharacteristically tense, as if she might laugh or cry at the end of each sentence.

“Hannah, what kind of pills did you take?” Rob asked, slowly, in his most parental tone. “Were they allergy pills? Can you tell me what the pills looked like?”

Rob sprung out of bed and shuffled into the living room, where he’d left his own bag of medicine, Lucy’s assorted mix of uppers and downers.

“I think it was white,” Hannah said. “And round. And then there was a white one that was more like a square. Why?”

Rob wiped his forehead. Now he was worried about Hannah, who could barely stomach a glass of wine on top of all her allergy medications, let alone a Xanax or Valium.

“You shouldn’t be taking pills that aren’t prescribed to you,” Rob said, shaking his head at his own hypocrisy.

“You’re telling me what to do?” Hannah laughed, just as surprised that Rob was the one giving the lecture about drug use. “Listen,” she continued, “don’t worry about me. The pills are making everything better. It’s like I’m seeing this whole thing from outside my body. I don’t care that Tom has moved on. I don’t care that the top of this bra is ripping a hole in my neck. I feel—impenetrable.”

Rob held his own bag of pills in front of his face to inspect each white round and square pill, wondering which one Hannah might have taken.

“Look, that’s great. I’m glad no one can penetrate you right now, but I want you to promise me that whatever you do you’ll stay away from alcohol. The pills are enough for a lightweight like you. Keep drinking water.”