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She groans and leans back in her chair. “Married sex requires so much imagination, it’s exhausting.”

“Like... you start doing it in imaginative places?” I ask. “Fire escape, that kind of thing?”

“No, like I imagine Tommy is my friend’s ex-fiancé, and he’s calling me the Terminator.”

Despite myself, I laugh, and Meg and Rufus cheer at the sound of it.

“Our point is,” Rufus says, “you and Ryan are bothboneable, successful, decent people. Stone-cold catches. It makes sense that you tried to make it work.”

I run my finger over the ring in the box on the table. When the jeweler called this morning to schedule the pickup, I’d laughed so manically into the phone that I definitely freaked him out. I’d swung by the shop on my way to brunch, a now-or-never feeling in my heart. The jeweler had asked me to try it on before I left, but I knew if I did that, I would have started weeping. Which I didn’t want to do, not until I was safely and anonymously walking through Central Park.

I know the ring probably fits perfectly. It’s beautiful and tragic. I can’t bring myself to take it out of the box.

“We would have been really unhappy,” I say to Meg and Rufus. It helps to say it aloud.

“Eh, happiness is overrated,” Meg says. “The first few years of parenting is like watching the man you used to want to fuck twenty-four/seven be slow-motion Frankensteined into a pastiche of every quality you loathe—”

“Meg,” Rufus says, giving her a look. “We are here to instill hope, remember? That there’s something better out there?”

“I’m just doing my due diligence,” Meg says. “In case the two of them get back together—”

“We won’t get back together,” I say.

“You sure?” Rufus says.

“Real sure?” Meg asks.

“I’m sure.” I stare at them. “What?”

Rufus lets out a low whistle and makes eyes at Meg. “Well, then, we can move into the honesty portion of the brunch.”

“What the hell have you been doing until now?” I demand.

Just then, our server appears with an ice bucket of prosecco and a tray of shots. She’s peppy and ponytailed, and before she even sets the drinks down, all of us reach for the tequila and take it in a gulp. I gag a little, and also wish I had another.

“Ohmigod,whojust got engaged?” the server asks, bright as the glaring sun. She glances around at the three of us, trying to make sense of the dynamic. “That ring isgorgeous. I want one just like it someday!”

“Take it,” I growl at her.

She flinches, glances at Rufus as she fiddles with the foil on the prosecco. “Is she okay?”

“Leave us,” Rufus whispers and eases the bottle out of the server’s hand.

“Wait, before you go,” Meg says, making a stop sign with her hand. “We’ll take a large platter of all your pickles, deviled eggs, an order of fried chicken and French toast, and one deluxe French dip.”

“Are you pregnant again?” Rufus asks, sizing up Meg.

“Rufus, I just ordered enough alcohol to pickle all three of us. But, thiswasmy go-to brunch when I was pregnant, and it is perfection, thank you very much.”

As soon as the server walks away, I stare down both my friends. “Start talking. And not about pickles. You hated Ryan? All this time?”

“No, no, we liked him,” Rufus says, his tone tactful. “Hewas a fabulous boyfriend. Capital F, capital B. Meg and I both appreciated the eye candy, especially that weekend at the Jersey Shore.”

“Remember his red bathing suit?” Meg makes a sizzling sound. She’s already flushed from the tequila.

“But,” Rufus says, “we’re... glad you’re not going to marry him.”

“Was it just me,” Meg says, “or was healwayslooking for reasons you should quit your job?”