“Don’t be dramatic,” she says. “Everyone here has a story. If I’d told you the truth from the outset, you’d have written me off!”

Not telling us she has kids seems not to constitute a lie of omission but a complex and detailed fabrication, of a variety that I’m far too familiar with. I feel something inside of me come loose, my mind racing ahead of me with a thousand tiny conspiracy theories.

Gemma switches again from angry to distraught, her eyes welling with tears. “I just wanted a chance to have some allies, to have some friends who don’t look at me like I’m crazy. This has been the worst time in my life. And if you’d known I left my kids at home with their dad while I went gallivanting off, you’d think I was the worst mother in the world!”

It takes me a moment to realize why everyone has suddenly gone silent and is staring at me, their faces looking alarmed. I only hear myself belatedly, only realize after they do that the sound is coming from me: a horrible, hideous, mirthless laughter.

“The worst mother in the world!” I say. It’s all erupting and I’m powerless to stop it. It’s as though I’m watching myself at a distance. I feel Cali’s hand on my arm, as a caution or as a comfort, I don’t know, but I’m wild now and I want neither; I shrug her off. Suddenly, I’m on my feet. “You’re right though. We’re all liars. You know what? I’m not even Liz Sullivan,” I continue. “I’m Katie Cleary.”

Gemma looks helplessly to Edward, who won’t make eye contact with her. I feel touched that he’s obviously never told her; I’d wondered. She looks back at me, baffled.

“Honey,” Cali says softly, sounding as though she’s a hundred miles away. I keep staring at Gemma.