We were eighteen, and we’d just finished sorority rush. It was late, and everyone was either passed out or still at the bars. I couldn’t sleep from all the adrenaline, wondering if and from whom I might get a bid, and wandered into the common room to find Trish watching Ice Castles, one of my favorite movies of all time. Not only could we both recite nearly every line—including the big scene where everyone realizes figure skater Lexie is actually blind when she trips over the roses adoring fans had thrown onto the ice—but also immediately knew we’d be best friends forever.

From then on, Trish and I used that line when one of us was about to make a big mistake.

“I admire your enthusiasm, Adie Lou,” Trish says, “but now hear me out.”

She grabs the divorce papers I had pushed aside earlier and begins to shuffle through them. “Do you remember how many issues the inspection revealed in the cottage?” Trish asks, her voice immediately serious and in full attorney mode. “The roof needs to be replaced, the plumbing is ancient, you still have knob-and-tube wiring in some areas of the cottage, the stairs down to the beach are in need of repair, not to mention erosion that needs to be addressed, the windows are old, the house needs new insulation and shingles... Need I go on?” she asks. “Okay, I will.”

Trish continues to rifle through the papers. “Your gas and electrical bills are astronomical even with no one living there, and need I remind you of the property taxes? Nearly $15,000 a year.”

“But I’ll be homesteading,” I say, my voice still hopeful. “That should knock taxes down by a third.”

“Oh, wow,” Trish says sarcastically. “You’re rich.”

She continues, her voice a bit softer. “I’m not counting the upkeep on an old, wooden boat, much less the fact that—oh, yeah—you won’t have steady income. How much does it cost to run a B and B? How long to make a profit? What about insurance and health codes and...”

“But Nate said he’d provide monthly support for me until Evan graduates from college,” I say.

“If you agreed to sell the cottage and the boat,” Trish interrupts.

“I know I might not be able to do the boat immediately,” I say, my voice beginning to rise. “I know I can’t afford everything all at once.”

“That’s an understatement,” Trish says.

“Trish,” I say, tempering my voice. “For the past twenty years I’ve raised a child in an emotionless marriage, I’ve endured a husband who regards me as critically as one of his philosophy books, I’ve excelled in a job I’ve despised, I’ve lost both my parents, I’m about to lose my family cottage...” I hesitate, trying to rein in my emotions. “I can’t lose anything else.”