There was an electric current in the room. Winnie could see the excitement in her friends’ eyes. She blinked around the room, disbelieving. They were hoping, she realized, that her brother would disobey. This would give them something to talk about for weeks. They were poised all over the living room, on her chaise and couches, her glasses held in their hands. It hurt her stomach to think about them talking about her family, sending their group texts back and forth. She hated them in that moment, every single one of them. She wished she could tell them all to get out of her house.

Then Nigel sniggered from where he stood, shaking his head, and Winnie saw Dakota’s whole body go tense. Any regret etched on his face was suddenly gone, and then her hotheaded brother was straightening his spine and spreading his feet wider apart. Her brother reminded her of a young lion, and her husband reminded her of an old one looking for a fight. She groaned deep inside herself, but not on the outside—on the outside Winnie kept her composure. No one was going to gossip; she was going to shut this down right now.

“Dakota—GO!”

“Yeah?” He looked right at her, and Winnie’s heart cleaved in two. Things would never be the same with them.

“Fuck you, Nigel,” Dakota said, shoving past him and out of the room.

Relief eased the beat of her racing heart, but the worst was not over; she had to get Dakota out of the house in one piece, and, oh, God—was she really going to have to continue with this stupid dinner?

“You okay, Win?” Vicky put a hand on her shoulder.

Dakota came back a minute later, a duffel slung over his shoulder. He had his phone out and was concentrating hard on the screen as he headed for the front door.

“Dakota!” she called after him. He didn’t turn; he lifted one hand over his head to signal goodbye, and he was gone. Winnie heard the traffic outside, a buzz that suddenly got louder and then abruptly stopped when the door slammed closed.

“Maybe you should go after him,” Malay said. “What if he does something stupid? You don’t want to be blamed—”

Winnie didn’t need to ask Malay what she meant; Malay’s cousin Alfie killed himself when they were all in college—ate the barrel of his father’s gun. They had all known Alfie and were sad when he died, but Malay treated his death like a crutch for everything she did now.

“Shut up, just shut up,” she hissed at her. She was spitting mad at all of them, but Malay had opened her damn mouth first. Now she was going to hear it.

“He’s not Alfie, and Nigel had every right to be angry.”