I feel her eyes everywhere. “You look tired,” Beth remarks. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine, thanks.” I motion for her to follow me toward the living room.

“Gosh,” she says pausing in the foyer. “You’ve certainly been busy.”

I watch as she takes the place in, accessing her features closely. I want to ask who is doing her work now that Dr. Dunn is six feet under. I want to ask who is doing her bidding now that his wife is out. But I assume that’s why she’s here, so I simply say, “A little.”

“Well, the place looks great.” She is attractive for a woman her age. Whatever work she’s had done, it’s tasteful, not over the top, but not exactly unnoticeable either. “So…fresh,” she says, turning on her heel. “Tom must be thrilled.”

Sarcasm, obviously. She knows as well as I do Tom abhors change. Slowly, very slowly, with the twist of an arm and a few shallow tactics on my part, he has allowed me to replace a few of his former wife’s things. Beth notices every one of them. Oh my, I love that new mirror. Is that a new vase? Tom let you replace the rug? Is this what I think it is?

I offer her tea with milk and a buttered croissant. Tom says she likes these things.

She declines both politely.

“I cannot believe Tom hired a housekeeper,” Beth says, lowering her voice. She glances around as though our maid might pop out at any minute. “Tom hates the idea of staff. I know June tried for years, to no avail.”

That name causes me to flinch. I shrug and play it off. “Really? He seems so happy now that we have Rose.” June must have been weak. Come to think of it, Tom never explained why he was so against help. Had I thought—or cared—to get to the bottom of this little problem, I might have saved myself a bit of purging.

“Speaking of which, how are things working out?” I know she isn’t referring to the help who has made herself scarce for our company, as I asked her to do.

I assume trying to manage my starter husband while I’m on my way to my next, probably isn’t the answer she wants to hear. People really dislike the truth when it's delivered unexpectedly

Instead, I take a seat on the sofa and watch as she follows suit, taking the armchair adjacent to me. “So, things are going good then?” She tries again.

“Pretty good, yes. It’s really nice to have help with the last minute shopping and the cleaning. Especially with so many visitors.” I offer a small laugh. “You just never know who is going to pop by.”

“It’s impressive,” she tells me, one brow lifted. “What you’ve done with the place.” We both know she isn’t talking about the decor.

Impressive is right, and I want to tell her it took faking morning sickness to get my husband to hire help. I want to tell her that desperate times call for desperate measures, and when the OCD excuses hadn’t seemed to do the trick, the matter called for escalation. More so, I want this to serve as a warning. I want her to know, although I have a feeling she might already, that sticking ones finger down their throat is worse than it sounds. I have no idea how bulimics manage. Real pregnant women are lucky, their purging comes easy.

But I don’t say any of that. Obviously.

I smile. “Croissant? Tea?” I offer again. One should never show their hand.

“I’m flattered, really,” she tells me, eyeing the spread. “But gosh Melanie, this is just too much.”

“It’s just Mel.” I correct her.

Beth blinks rapidly. It’s clear she isn’t used to being corrected.

“Only Tom calls me Melanie.”

“What a shame,” she says, pouring tea into her cup. “It sounds so sophisticated.”

“Sugar?” I ask, nodding at the cup. Her eyes follow mine. It’s June’s china she’s holding. She notices this too.

“No. Thank you.”

She eyeballs the tray.

Pressing my lips together, suddenly I see my mistake: Just because Tom says she loves croissants does not mean she allows herself to have them. This makes me savor the moment all the more. I really take it in. Mistakes can work in ones favor that way, if you let them. Take the fake bun in my oven, if an example is what you’re looking for.

I see her leaning in. She’s bound to fall. “This is all very nice,” she tells me, straightening her back. I can see it takes all her restraint to stop herself from reaching out. I bet if I left her alone… She clears her throat. “But you know I can’t have these carbs.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m eating for two.”

“If only the weight came off as easily as it comes on.”

I ignore her, and then I reach for a croissant. I place it beneath my nose and inhale deeply. Closing my eyes, I can relax into the aroma. “Mmmm.”

I make sure to give it the full effect before tearing a fluffy piece off and placing it on my tongue. I chew extra slowly. When I’m finished, I nod toward the tray. “So good. I hope you won’t mind if I have yours.”

Her mouth is open; she’s about to speak. At this point, I have no intention of sharing.

I murmur something inaudible and then, “Pregnancy cravings…are very intense.”

“I want to talk about the party,” she says, changing the subject.

My face falls. Then I let a bit of silence settle between us. “I know,” I tell her. “It didn’t turn out the way I’d wanted either.”

“The Men’s Alliance wasn’t happy with the final numbers.”

“Oh, that reminds me—” I meet her eye. “I’ve been meaning to ask how I can join the Women’s Alliance?”

Beth looks confused, although her face barely moves. Probably on account of all the filler. “There’s no such thing.”

I rest my hand on my chest and inhale deeply. I pretend to let what she’s said sink in. “Oh. Well, I just assumed…”

“Melanie, dear,” she says. She makes a clucking sound with her tongue to further convey her disappointment. Just in case I missed it. “Before you go any further, may I make a request?”

She shifts, and I see the light flicker behind her eyes. She’s going to relent and ask for the damn croissant. “It’s Mel,” I say calmly. “Just Mel.”

“Mel, right.” She crosses and uncrosses her legs. Her chin dips to her chest before finally she meets my eye. “I was really hoping to get off on a good foot.”

I picture her getting off. It isn’t pleasant. My face twists. Beth takes this as a concession.

“I realize you’re new. But we have standards to uphold.”

“With the Women’s Alliance?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “There is no women’s alliance.”

I shake my head. “Oh, that’s right. You said that.”

Beth glances toward the clock. It’s weird how she knows everything in this house, maybe even better than me. “Tom mentioned you haven’t read the agreement.”

“Yeah about that—” I pause and crack my knuckles.

She waits patiently for me to go on, but I can see I’m wearing her down. She isn’t used to people taking this approach with her. “You know what they say about pregnancy brain.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

My bad. It’s been a long time since she’s been pregnant. “Funny, how all that goes away with enough time.”

I see her jaw harden. Like the rest of her. Beth Jones isn’t a woman who likes to be reminded she’s aging.

I toss my hands up before dropping them in my lap. Eventually, I shove them between my thighs. It’s a submissive posture. “With so much to do around here…it keeps slipping my mind.”

Her eyes shift. She isn’t sure if I’m mocking her, or if I’m just stupid. Now that I have her properly confused, I bring it home. “Which reminds me…I was wondering…if you could…like…um… give me a refresher on the rules.”

Finally, I get a smile. My question, combined with the way it is posed, has confirmed her suspicion. It’s the latter. It’s her mouth I watch as she works out what to say next. She has that trout pout thing going, and I’m not sure if it’s work or if she’s just really unhappy or if it’s only temporary, like maybe she’s into those lip kit things that they’re always advertising on the internet.

“The rules,” she says. “Of course.” It’s clear what she thinks of me by the way she says it. Beth thinks I suffer from a low IQ. All beauty. No brains. What a terrible thing for her it would be if I were blessed with both. The threat of such a travesty out of the way, she adjusts her skirt and settles in.

When she starts to speak, I interrupt her. “I love that skirt. It’s such a statement piece.” Her eyes follow mine and land on her legs. “You have to tell me where I can find one…we could be, what do they call it…” I stop myself and stare into the air between us. Finally, I reach up and grab the thought. “Ah, matchy-matchy. I’ve always wanted to do that. Never had a sister… but now—”

Beth presses her perfect lips to one another. Lipstick stains her teeth when she opens her mouth. She smiles pleasantly. “I doubt they make your size.”

I feign surprise. I’m not as green as my counterpart thinks.

“I mean, I doubt they come in maternity.”

“You’re probably right.” I touch my stomach. “And I have every intention of getting as big as a house…”

She doesn’t outright say so, but I can see she likes the idea of this. “Anyhow—I’m short on time so let’s stay focused on the rules—”

“Yeah,” I agree, shooting for eager. “I just feel like Josie was so distracted that I didn’t get the full rundown.” My hand moves from my stomach to my heart. This makes sense to her. She sips her tea and waits for me to go on and so I do. “I really didn’t mean to upset the Men’s Alliance. I guess… it’s just…well, it’s easy to break the rules if you don’t know what they are.”

Her chest heaves. It’s like she’s deflating. No need to worry, her implants will keep her afloat. I’m impressed by the way they’re so…out there. They have to be Ds at least. I want to ask, but I don’t know the proper way to tell someone you like their tits without just coming out with it. This seems like it might be breaking the rules, and anyway, she speaks before I have the chance.

“Very true,” she tells me, and she seems relieved so it takes me a minute to remember what we’d been talking about. It helps when she goes on. “And, I couldn’t agree more. I think we should start from the beginning.”

“Wonderful,” I tell her, and that’s when I feel it. Unmistakable warmth, the wetness between my legs. It’s subtle at first but then I’m sure, and if I stay still for a moment I know I’ll get a proper gush. My period. I thank God. It’s right on time.

I realize Beth is waiting for me to speak. My head spins.

I do the only thing that makes any sense. I stand. Blood runs down my legs.

“Oh, my,” Beth says. And then, her face goes blank. “We’d better get you to the hospital.”

I do not for a second regret forgetting to suggest grabbing a towel on the way out.

My tragedy, my forgetfulness, earned Beth a new car. But that’s not all. It got rid of June’s horrid couch and the armchair went with it. Small sacrifices, as they say.