“And now for the main course,” Molly says. From her station she pulls a long hot stone, displaying sizzling filet mignon, buttery lobster, and blackened tofu. The heat is coming off the meat like it is blacktop in the middle of July. That is all I’ll think about for the rest of the day. Tonight, I’ll eat, I tell myself as she puts the stones in front of us, the smell of oily, salty goodness wafting straight to the part of my brain that controls impulse, anger, desire. The part of my brain that would stuff four pounds of this into my mouth later tonight and then throw it up after. The part of my brain that makes sure I’m never satisfied. Not even when I know Molly is here and the wedding is just around the corner.

The willpower it took not to eat at the tasting sent me straight back to our room to nap so deeply I didn’t hear Graham knocking on the door. I was having one of those dreams that seemed real despite how strange it was. Molly and I were at college—my real college, not this Brown bullshit—and Ruthie was there, too. We were sitting in a circle in the quad, Dr. Felix Chastain leading us in prayer. But he wasn’t actually saying words. He was just making animal noises—a pig, a goat, a hyena. Everyone but Molly and I seemed to understand him and follow along. We were looking around, confused, pretending to pray—our hands in the right spots, our heads bowed—until we made eye contact. Once we realized we were together, she looked at me the same way she had when Cheryl told her about the Times. Then—poof—Dr. Felix Chastain was gone and Ruthie was standing in his place, dressed in a bloody wedding gown; not mine, but the kind you get at a David’s Bridal sale. She was staring at me as a blue-and-purple line bloomed on her neck, growing thicker and darker. She didn’t even blink.

I had been staring into her huge blue eyes when Graham’s knocking started to penetrate the dream. With every bang, the students around the circle clapped. Ruthie stared at me. Everyone clapped. I stared at Ruthie. Everyone clapped.

When I wake up, I’m so disoriented I don’t recognize what room I’m in. I look at the white walls, the plants in the corner, the floor-to-ceiling window out back, where the sun bursts into the room so brightly you’d think it is shining only for me.

“Babe...” I can hear Graham outside now. That was his frustrated babe. The one that sounds like more of an exhausted huff than a loving pet name for his future wife.

Finally, once I get my bearings, I stand and open the door. “Sorry,” I say. “Fell asleep.”