We were quiet as we got ready, and I wondered if our slumber party atmosphere had ended with David’s arrival. Even though I’d teased Suzanne about it, I’d loved it, too, that camaraderie that seems to exist only between women. But now David was here. He would sleep in Jean’s room tonight, so none of us could barge in and sit on her bed to talk or borrow clothes because she was the only one who kept up with her laundry. In the morning, would he suggest that Jean go home with him? Would she go? It would still be fun with only the three of us, but not the same. We would miss her steadying presence, her unexpectedly wicked sense of humor, the tapping of her fingertips on her laptop at all times of the day and night. We would miss her cooking, too—her meals were the only palatable ones we ate here in the house—but that didn’t matter. I hoped she knew that didn’t matter. We met in the kitchen in varying stages of readiness. Suzanne was pulling her hair into a high, sideways ponytail and I was still looking for the thongs that protected my feet from the rocks on the paths when Jean said, “Oh, poop, we forgot.”
