She felt ashamed as Ruby held back tears. Still, she thought, “Please don’t let her cry.” She didn’t want to have to comfort her.

“My agent says I shouldn’t eat like that either. My former agent.” Ruby clasped a throw cushion to her tummy. “I eat mainly at the cake shop across the street from my apartment. The women who work there are very thin. Like you. There’s a thin Asian girl. A thin black girl. A thin blond. It looks like Scott’s casting office,” she added, giggling.

She didn’t apologize because she was too far gone to know she had said anything wrong. Rachel felt a wave of unease as she realized that they were discussing her husband, whom Ruby had stolen away because she was bored.

“You should date rock stars. There was this one who wanted to throw me out of a window. I didn’t mind. I thought it would be a pretty great way to die. He chickened out though.”

Sick of her babble, Rachel interrupted, “So what was the sex with Scott like?”

“I don’t know,” huffed Ruby, suddenly demure.

“You fucked my husband. You must know what he was like.”

“I never know about … stuff like that. Intercourse.”

Rachel looked at the red-faced little girl and felt like a sixty-yearold biology teacher forced to cover the facts of life. But no one was forcing her. And yet she could not stop.

“What did he like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he ask you to put a finger up his ass?”

“No!” she screamed and hid her face behind the throw cushion.

Rachel pried the pillow away. “He liked me to do that.”

Ruby was sobbing, her small shoulders moving up and down like an unsafe merry-go-round.

“Please. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want to go home.” She picked up her bag and scurried to the door.

“No,” said Rachel. “It’s snowing too hard. Stay here. Stay in the spare room.” Ruby looked at her nervously. Rachel smiled, as naturally, as genuinely as she could.

“I’ll cook you dinner.”

“No! You’re just inviting me to the prom so that you can pour a bucket of pigs’ blood on my head.”

“No. I’m not. It’s nasty outside. We’re both hungry. I love cooking. I’ll make you salmon pasta.”

“Really?” She let her bag sink to the floor and followed it seconds later. Leaning against the wall, Ruby whispered, “I can’t remember the last time I had a meal that someone actually cooked.”

“You’ve been to restaurants, right?” laughed Rachel, trying to get her to snap out of it.

Ruby stayed serious. “I mean, someone who wasn’t obscured from view by swinging metal doors. If I can’t see them cook it, then it doesn’t count.”