I blink. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You know he is,” Lisa chastises.

“But you … you’re …” I wave my hands, helpless to put into words exactly what I’m trying to say.

Beth rolls her eyes. “Three kids, stretch marks, saggy tits. I used to complain about how Steve was always on me, but now he doesn’t even look at me. We haven’t had sex in three months. Three. Months.”

I reach for the bottle to pour some more wine. If there’s a moment to let them in, it’s this one. But I’m wary of these women. Cautious about sharing too much. I’d thought that renewing a friendship, or in Beth’s case creating one, might be good for me, but it’s clear that neither of them is going to be a positive influence. Still, is it wrong for me to want someone to talk to?

Christian says that if you want to get anywhere in life, you have to face the things that scare you.

The inside of my cheek is sore from where I’ve bitten it too many times. I probe the pain with my tongue before speaking. “I think Ken might have someone else that he sees when he’s on the road.”

My hesitant laugh scratches at my throat. I see by their expressions that both of them understand. Here the three of us sit, middle-aged women drinking wine before noon. None of us happy, but all for different reasons. Lisa’s single, not by choice. Beth’s needs aren’t being met, at least not by her husband. And me … what, exactly, is my problem?

“I don’t think he loves me,” I whisper. I say it again, louder. “Ken doesn’t love me.”

Beth and Lisa both nod as though they aren’t surprised.

“Do you love him?” Lisa asks.

I think of the promise I made to my son, that I would protect him and take care of him. Give him a stable home life. Provide for him. I think of the mortgage and the bills and the emptying bank account.

“I need him.”

“I need something,” Beth groans.

Lisa lifts her glass. “I need to get a little lit right now. How’s that?”

Beth downs her glass and holds it out for more as she leans to look toward the carriage house. “Tell me what it was like. With Christian. Tell me he’s great in bed.”

Lisa and I both look at her. Beth’s expression goes hard. She stares into her glass before setting it on the table between us.

“I just want to know,” she says.

“You don’t already?” I ask her.

She frowns. “No, I unfortunately do not.”

“But you—” I start, then stop myself.

Self-doubt pokes a needle in my side for a second. Beth’s just a friend. You don’t need to worry about her. I hadn’t told Christian I saw her coming out of the apartment, but he hadn’t said she was there, either. Could I have mistaken someone else for her?

“I party with Christian sometimes,” Beth says, “but we aren’t fucking. If that’s what you’re getting at.”