Her heart suddenly thumped. “That's important to you?”

“Maybe,” he said in a voice so low she could barely hear him.

She drew closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body near her skin. She was only wearing shorts and a tank top, and she was cold, but he would be warm against her, she knew. “You won't lose anything,” she said. “This will be even better. I promise.” She caught him around the neck and put her mouth against his. It felt wrong-like she was breaking the rules.

She liked that feeling.

He responded the way she knew he would, his mouth first closed and uncertain against hers and then finally giving in to her insistence. She opened her eyes just in time to see him close his, and triumph flashed through her. She pressed herself against him.

But then he was pulling back, away from her. He pushed her to arm's distance. “I just can't help wondering,” he said, “whether I left a bank statement lying open around here recently.”

“What?”

“I’m talking about you figuring out that I’m as rich as Kevin Porter.”

She thought he was joking. She laughed a little. “Nothing wrong with that,” she said and reached for him again.

This time, there was real anger in the shove he gave her. “Jesus Christ, Kathleen, what kind of an idiot do you think I am?”

She stumbled but caught herself against the back of a chair.“What are you talking about?”

“You really expect me to believe that a beautiful girl twenty years my junior with no income who's already told me she's on the make-” He stopped and shook his head hard, like he was getting rid of something buzzing around it. “You really expect me to believe that she-that you-have anything but money on your mind?”

“It's not like that,” she said. Horrified. “I’m not like that.”

“The hell you're not,” he said. “You lay on that sofa, right there-what was it, three months ago, four months ago?-and you told me you were exactly that way. Did you think I’d forget? Or were you just thinking that I’m so old and pathetic I wouldn't care? That I’d just be grateful for whatever I got from you? Even if I had to pay for it?”

“Stop it,” she said. “You know I wasn't thinking anything like that.”

“I can't promise you Tiffany necklaces,” he said. “Or whatever else it is you might be hoping for.” “I don't care about that stuff-”

“I’ve always been reluctant to buy myself a girlfriend. There are better investments.”

“You are an idiot,” Kathleen said, struggling to find her voice and her balance and something to say that would throw it all back at him. “But not the way you think. You're an idiot because you don't even see that this is for real, that I mean it-”

“I’m the idiot?” he said. “You're the one who had to ruin everything, even after I warned you not to.”

“You've ruined everything, not me.”

“We can at least agree that we're done here,” he said. “Say goodbye, Kathleen. And get the hell out of my apartment.”

“With pleasure,” she said and fled.

Back downstairs, her only thought was that she had to get out, had to move, had to do something-anything-to stop thinking about what had just happened. She threw on a jacket and running shoes and left the apartment.

When the elevator door opened, Sam was inside, wearing an overcoat. So he had just calmly continued to get ready to go out, even after all that. It made her hate him.

Their eyes met and Kathleen took a step back, but the elevator man was waiting and gestured her in impatiently. So she lifted her chin and walked in without a word, turning her back on Sam and staring blindly at the display of floor numbers.

They descended to the lobby in silence. Even the elevator man didn't bother announcing their arrival as he sometimes did, just pulled the doors open and signaled her out. Sam stayed on for the parking level.

As she stepped out of the elevator, she heard Sam say, “Kathleen.”

“What?” She turned slightly toward him but kept her head averted.

“It's already dark out. Are you going running?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“I don't know.”

“Keep to well-lit places, will you?”

She didn't bother to respond to that, just walked out.

But it made her furious that he would pretend he cared about her safety-after having made her feel like a piece of shit just a few minutes earlier-and that fury kept her pounding along the pavement for several miles, miles during which blocks and buildings passed in a blur and she didn't even think she had a destination, didn't know where she was or where she was going, until she looked up and realized she was on Sari's block and had been heading there all that time, her feet apparently knowing what it took her brain a few minutes longer to process-that she needed a friend to comfort her.

Fortunately Sari was home from work, getting ready to go over to Jason's house. She immediately called him to cancel their plans. Three hours, a bottle of wine, and a few tears later, Kathleen was able to fall asleep on the floor of Sari's apartment. But the hurt waited patiently all night for her to wake up and was there to greet her in the morning.

II

One day at the end of February, Sari stopped by her parents’ house to ask her mother if she could throw a small brunch for her friends there on the following Sunday. “My apartment's too small to have more than one or two people over,” she said. “And I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. I’ll do all the work and clean up afterward. All you'll have to do is sit and eat.”

“I’m not sure if all that commotion will be good for your brother,” Eloise said.

“There won't be that many of us,” Sari said. “And he can always go into the other room to watch TV if he feels overwhelmed.”

“It'll be fun,” said Jason, who had come with her.

“Will you be there?” Eloise said.

“Of course,” he said. “I go wherever Sari goes. Plus it's always a pleasure coming to see you. And I make a mean mimosa, Eloise. Just wait till you try it.”

Eloise smiled and gave in.

The second they were in the car, Sari said to Jason, “You should be ashamed of yourself. ‘It's such a pleasure seeing you and I make a mean mimosa.’ You manipulative little-”

“You love that I can get your mother to do whatever I want.”

“I’m counting on it,” she said with a grin, and he leaned over and kissed the grin right off her face and made it go down deep where it meant something.

So a week later there they were at Sari's house-the three knitting friends and David Lee and Jason and Zack. Sari had brought all the food-fruit, bagels and muffins, and, of course, champagne and orange juice to make mimosas-and they all lingered at the table for a while, lazily chatting, except for Sari's dad, who had disappeared into the bedroom as soon as he was done eating, and Charlie, who ate a couple of bagels and then went to watch TV.

“How are your sisters doing, Kathleen?” Eloise asked. “The twins?” She was on her best behavior, playing the gracious hostess.

“They're okay,” Kathleen said. “They had kind of a big fight recently, but they're doing better now. For a while, they weren't even talking to each other. They're back to talking now, which is a good thing since they're in preproduction on a new movie, but they're not the friends they used to be.”

“So they're going to keep working together?” Lucy asked.

“They don't have a choice,” Kathleen said. “They're a gimmick. Which means they're stuck together, no matter how much they might come to hate each other.”

“That's the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard,” David said.

“Tell me about it,” Kathleen said. “In the end, I may be the lucky one of us three-I mean, I may not be famous, but at least I’m my own person.”

“Says the girl who's going back to work for her sisters,” Lucy said.