After last dress-up night, Hannah now finds herself contemplating what to wear to group. She doesn’t kid herself though. She’s dressing for Jake, not herself or the other women. Tonight she decides on a navy tank dress, a fitted jean jacket, and pearl stud earrings—a mix of sexy and traditional.
During group she listens as Flavia tells of having sex with other men, as Bridget talks about Michael and her preparations for a polygraph. She listens as Lizzy explains that school is her safe haven and Gail relays that Jonah was so unruffled about the letter from April, it’s clear their marriage has overcome the biggest hurdles. Hannah feels obligated to say something about herself, so she tells them about the new family therapist and how she hopes it will help Alicia.
As the hour ticks away, she feels occasionally connected, but there are moments when the signal breaks, as if a synapse is missed, and panic floods in. To calm herself she thinks about how comforting an appletini will be.
The session comes to a close, and Kathryn thanks them all for coming.
At the bar, they sit around the same table as last week, and as soon as Hannah takes her first sip, she feels as if her nerve endings aren’t quite so raw, as if she can finally think. Hannah notices that Lizzy closes her eyes for a second after she takes a drink and guesses she feels the same way.
“You look like you’re in postcoital bliss,” Bridget tells Lizzy.
She smiles. “The bliss part feels right.”
“He still does not make love to you?” Flavia asks.
Lizzy shakes her head. “Not yet.”
Gail sips her merlot. “What about trying to go away to a hotel?”
“I suggested that, but he sort of winced. I think that puts more pressure on him. It has to happen naturally, and until it does, I’m just going to enjoy other things in my life, like spending time with you all.” She lifts her glass. Hannah joins in the toast and finishes her drink.
Bridget takes out a small notepad and a pen. “I’ve been thinking,” she says.
Gail grins. “This should be good.”
Bridget smiles wryly. “We’re making a pact.”
Hannah laughs. “I haven’t done that since I was a Girl Scout.” She glances around for their server.
Bridget rolls her eyes.
“Sorry,” Hannah says. “I didn’t mean to sound derogatory.”
“Here’s the deal.” Bridget ignores Hannah. “No one is allowed to do anything rash, anything out of the ordinary, unless they call at least two other members of the group.”
“And what does this rash mean?” Flavia asks.
“Well, it can mean different things for different people. But obviously something like jumping off a bridge applies to everyone. If you think you want to do that, you have to call two people.”
“Okay, I will sign,” Flavia says.
Gail places her hand in front of Bridget. “Have you been considering anything dangerous?” she asks.
“Suicide? Hell, no. Homicide? Hell, yes.”
Gail lets out a breath. “You’re sure?”
“Do I seem like the type to hurt myself?”
“I just needed to check,” Gail tells her.
“So aside from killing oneself or one’s spouse, what else?” Hannah asks. She signals the waitress to bring her another drink and looks for Jake.
“Doing something way out of the ordinary. Say Gail wants to hire a male hooker. That kind of thing,” Bridget explains.
Gail laughs.
“Okay, like running away, or binge drinking, or shaving your head, or getting a tattoo on your neck. Things like that. Maybe slashing your husband’s tires.” Bridget pauses. “Actually, scratch that one. That’s sane, not rash. But you get the idea.”
“I think it’s good.” Gail rests her chin in her palm.
The waitress brings Hannah her drink.
“Other comments?” Bridget asks.
“I like it,” Lizzy says.
Bridget rips off a few sheets from her notepad. “I’ll pass around five pieces of paper. We each get everyone else’s number. I know some of us already have them, but this makes it official.”
Hannah writes down her cell and home numbers on one of the sheets, then sees Jake at the bar. She drinks her appletini as if it’s water, hands the paper to Bridget, and slides out of her chair.
“Hey, you.” He smiles as she approaches.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Can’t complain. And you?”
She laughs. “I could complain, but I’m not going to.”
“A drink?” He looks at her empty hands.
“Sure.”
“You here with your friends again?”
“Yep,” she says.
“You look like such an interesting group.”
“How so?”
“In that none of you look the same. I mean, it’s like you don’t really go together. I don’t mean it in a bad way. Just that lots of times when you see a group of women, they all kind of have on the same clothes, or they’re around the same age, or…”
“Yeah, I get what you mean.” The drink tastes fruity, as if it barely has any alcohol.
“You never did tell me how you all met,” he says.
She watches his lips. God, she’d love to kiss him. Right here. Right now, in front of everyone. His cheeks are ruddy, and she brushes a finger along one of them.
The third drink goes down more quickly than the second. She orders another.
“Come meet them,” she tells Jake.
On the way to the table, she sways a little and decides it’s because the old wooden slats of the floor are uneven. She’s not drunk. In fact, she feels refreshed and alive.
“Hey, everyone, I want you to meet my friend Jake.” She grabs a chair from the neighboring table.
Flavia gives a sexy wave, Lizzy says a demure hello, Gail turns toward the wall, and Bridget glares at Hannah.
“Nice to meet you all,” Jake says quietly, and drinks his beer.
“That’s Gail.” Hannah points. “Flavia.” She moves her finger. “Lizzy and Bridget.”
“Hi,” Lizzy says again, more meekly.
Hannah slaps the table. “So what are we talking about?”
“Private stuff.” Bridget narrows her eyes.
Jake pushes his chair back and picks up his beer. “Well, I have to go. I’ll catch up with you later.” He stands. “Take care of yourself.”
Hannah waits until he’s out of hearing range. “What’s with the icy reception?”
“What the hell is with bringing someone over here?” Bridget asks.
“He’s a friend.” She finishes her drink. “Might be good to get a sane male perspective on things.”
“He’s not a friend. You met him at this bar last week, and we don’t know the first thing about him.”
Hannah shrugs and takes off her jacket. The fourth drink is working wonders. “He’s nice.”
“Does he know anything about us?” Gail asks.
“Of course not. You think I’m going to go blabbing that our husbands are a bunch of perverts?”
“Shush, not so loud,” Bridget tells her.
“And please don’t refer to our husbands that way.” Gail uses a coaster to fan herself.
“Yeah, that was really uncool,” Bridget says.
“You want a ride home?” Lizzy asks Hannah.
“Me?” Hannah shakes her head and grins. “I’m not ready to leave. And they are a bunch of perverts.”
“Stop,” Bridget warns.
“Or what?”
Lizzy stands. “Come on, let me give you a ride.”
“No. I want to know what she’s going to do to me if I keep talking.” She stares at Bridget.
“I’m not here to fight. I just don’t think it was cool that you brought someone to our table. What if he knew one of us?” Bridget asks.
“He doesn’t.” Hannah is ready for drink number five.
“He might start asking,” Gail tells her. “He might start putting the pieces together.”
“And then what? He’ll call the newspapers? Don’t you think you’re all being a little overdramatic?” Hannah looks around for the waitress and notices Jake facing away from them. She embarrassed him. A wave of self-hatred grips her gut.
“You need to respect us.” Bridget points emphatically to herself.
“Oh my God, like I don’t? Are you kidding? And where is the waitress?” She turns her empty glass upside down.
“No more drinks.” Lizzy touches Hannah’s arm. “I’m going to take you home.”
“I’m not leaving.” She shakes her head again.
“Come on.” Lizzy picks up Hannah’s jacket.
“Go home with her,” Bridget says.
“I think that’s a wise idea,” Gail adds.
Hannah stands. She likes how she feels, as if she’s walking across one of those fake rickety bridges. When she gets to the door, she turns to catch a glimpse of Jake. He doesn’t see her. Lizzy keeps hold of Hannah’s arm. She doesn’t need the support, but she doesn’t mind it either.
In Lizzy’s car, Hannah reclines the seat but immediately gets the spins.
“Shit.” She sits up. “I think it was that fourth one.” Hannah covers her mouth as she hiccups.
“I couldn’t handle four.”
“I used to be able to. But it’s been a while. I’ve been so busy playing the good fucking mommy and wife that I forgot what fun it was to go out and get smashed.”
“What’s your address?” Lizzy asks, holding a GPS.
“Twenty-four Garden Gate Road, Wayland, Mass. 01778.”
“You need a bottle of water or anything?”
“You know what?” Hannah begins. “You’re too good for what’s-his-face.”
Lizzy smiles. “Greg.”
“I bet Jake would be thrilled to have sex with you.”
The GPS gives directions to get onto the highway. “I’m not really interested. But thanks, I guess.”
Hannah’s stomach feels like it’s tumbling in a dryer. She takes a few deep breaths and tries to focus on the moon, which is a sliver short of full. “I don’t feel too great,” she finally says. “Think you could stop?”
“Do you want to wait for a McDonald’s or something?”
Hannah covers her mouth and shakes her head. Lizzy pulls over. Hannah opens the door and dives out. At least she manages to vomit in the grass and not on the pavement.
Lizzy rubs Hannah’s back. “You going to be all right?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” She stands straight, hating the aftertaste of alcohol, throw-up, and apple. “I can’t believe I … fuck…”
“It’s okay.”
“God, I’m an ass.” She looks up at the slate gray sky.
“Don’t say that.” Lizzy holds open the car door.
Hannah gets in and leans her head on the window. They drive for a while. Her throat doesn’t burn as much, and she starts to feel much more sober than she ever intended.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought a few drinks could give me a reprieve.”
“Please, it’s fine. We all understand.”
“Think they love us?” Hannah asks.
“Bridget and Gail?”
“No.” She chuckles. “Our husbands.”
“Someone once told me that love is an action verb.” Lizzy takes the exit.
“What kind of action is Greg taking?” Hannah asks.
“Um…” Lizzy turns onto Hannah’s street. “I guess he’s been going to the twelve-step groups and therapy.”
“Right. But has he done anything for you?”
“I suppose. He’s trying to get better.”
“That’s for him.”
“And for us.” Lizzy slows the car to a stop in front of Hannah’s house. The front porch light is on. “What about you?” she asks.
“Adam tries, but I won’t let him do much. If he brought home flowers, I’d throw them away, and I’m not ready to actually do anything fun with him. It wouldn’t be fun. I’m still too angry.” Hannah opens the door and puts one foot on the street, then turns back to Lizzy. “Don’t settle,” she says.
The house is quiet. Hannah grabs two water bottles from the fridge and goes to her room. She sits on the edge of the bed and feels as if someone is pounding a hammer on her temples. Her eyes are dry, her throat is still sore, her stomach acidic. What an idiot, to go out drinking like she’s seventeen, as if that would ever help her or her family. One addict is enough. It occurs to her that if she had to come up with a word that was the antonym of love, it would be addiction.