There was no way I could cover up the fact that I’d been crying my eyes out the whole way home. I walked in and dropped my purse on the table by the door. “Hey, babe,” Lizzy called from my kitchen. “Stacia and I stopped by to discuss Thanksgiving and your birthday.” Oh, fantastic. Now I was going to experience my humiliation in front of two of my friends. And I wanted to talk about Thanksgiving and my birthday as much as I wanted a hole in my head. “I know it’s barely noon, but we cracked open a bottle of wine already. Hope you don’t—” Lizzy’s words cut off as soon as she and Stacia rounded the corner into my foyer and saw my red-rimmed, puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks. I was a very ugly crier. “What’s wrong?” they asked in unison. I couldn’t speak past the tears clogging my throat, so I just shook my head. “Jesus,”
