“No.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “Regardless, I’m glad you did it. Climbed the tree, I mean. Sorry that it triggered a spell, but also glad.”

“Are you really, Dani?” Chloe narrowed her eyes, all suspicion. “Because it was part of my plan to be fabulously reckless and extremely exciting, and a little birdie tells me that you have a personal investment in my failure.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, darling. It’s only fifty pounds; of course I’d rather lose. And anyway, I don’t remember ‘cat rescuing’ or ‘tree climbing’ being on the list. Am I wrong?”

“No,” Chloe admitted. “This was an extracurricular activity.”

“Well, then. My fifty pounds is safe. But what will you do about the cat, long-term? Pets aren’t allowed here, are they?”

“I’ve made a temporary arrangement with the superintendent,” Chloe said, then mentally kicked herself.

Her sisters, predictably, collapsed in a chorus of lustful shrieks and sighs. “Red,” Eve said with such feeling you’d think she and the superintendent were Romeo and Juliet made flesh.

“Redford Morgan,” Dani purred, vixenish in a way Chloe had never mastered. Danika Brown was a left-wing academic and amateur spiritualist who shaved her head because “hair is just so much effort,” but beneath it all, she took after Gigi. If Dani had been the one rescued from a tree by a handsome man, or woman, for that matter … well, she’d have secured said rescuer’s affections by the time they hit the ground.

“How did you broker this deal?” Eve asked innocently, fluttering her lashes.

“She offered her body of course,” Dani grinned.

“Oh, be quiet, the both of you. I’m not so desperate as that.”

“Because sleeping with that man would be such torture,” Eve snorted. “He is sex on a stick, Chlo. And he’s so sweet.”

“Sweet?! Clearly, you barely know him.”

“Which is why I’m not yet pregnant with his babies. What’s your excuse?”

“Her excuse,” Dani said, “is that he’s so hot, he short-circuits her little robot brain.”

“My robot brain is huge, thank you very much,” Chloe sniffed. “And he does not short-circuit anything.”

Dani gave a slow smile, an action that had been known to cause proposals, jealous fist fights, and in one notable case, a minor car accident. “Wonderful,” she purred. “In that case, I expect you to sleep with him as soon as possible. Isn’t sex on your list?”

Chloe narrowly avoided choking to death on her own astonishment.

“It is,” Eve piped up. “Oh, go on, Chlo. Shag him. Tell us all about it.”

Good gracious, sisters were a nightmare. “Men,” Chloe said firmly, “are not for me.” Especially not that man. I wouldn’t know what to do with him. But her mind proposed several heroic suggestions, and her mouth went dry.

Dani cocked her head. “Finally decided to try women? Wonderful.”

“I am trying no one, thank you very much.” Clearly, her subconscious needed the reminder as much as her sisters did.

“Why not?” Eve demanded, her romantic nature clearly offended.

“You know why not.”

“Clearly, I don’t.”

Sigh. “It’s too much work. I can’t be bothered.”

Two sets of dark, unimpressed eyes speared her.

She doubled down. “It’s very awkward, dating while disabled. People can be quite awful. And you know I don’t have much energy to spare for social nonsense.”

“Social nonsense,” Eve snorted. “I swear, Chloe, you are so full of it.”

Eve clearly didn’t realize that “social nonsense” was Chloe’s succinct way of phrasing “the constant disappointment that is human nature.” She’d learned the hard way that people were always looking for a reason to leave, that affection or adoration or promises of devotion turned to dust when things got tough. Losing Henry had shown her that. Waking up one day to realize that her friends, bored with lists and rain checks and careful coping mechanisms, had left her behind … that had been unnecessary emphasis on a painful lesson. Chloe’s family was abnormal in their loyalty, and she loved them for it, but they didn’t seem to understand that others couldn’t be trusted. Better to be alone than to be abandoned.

She refused to let that happen again.

But if she explained those facts, her sisters would insist she’d simply had a bad experience, then start insulting everyone who’d ever left her. And then Chloe would be forced to remember all the things she’d lost, and to wonder, for the thousandth time, what it was about her that made her so easy to leave.

It was time to change the subject, and also her pajamas.

Pushing off her blankets and rising to her feet caused a moment of dizziness, but she’d been ready for that. She waited. The encroaching blackness faded. “There,” she smiled, pleased with herself. “Right as rain.”

Dani looked up in alarm. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just popping into the shower. Won’t be long.” That was an unrepentant lie. She would indeed be long, and everyone present knew it.

“Would you like some help?” Eve asked.

“I’m not that bad.” Chloe rolled her eyes and left her sisters in the living room. As she peeled off her worn-in pajamas and settled into the bathroom’s plastic shower seat, she thanked God for the disability aids all ground-floor flats came with. After grabbing her shampoo and conditioner, she switched on the water and tipped her head back under the spray.

It had been a frustrating few days. She’d fallen into an infuriating cycle when she’d climbed that tree. Physical overload led to pain and a complete dearth of spoons, also known as mind-numbing exhaustion; which led to extra meds and insomnia; which led to sleeping pills and too much brain fog; which led to, in a word, misery.

When she found herself trapped in that cycle, Chloe was supposed to do certain things. Things like socializing with all her nonexistent friends, despite her inability to brush her teeth and change out of her pajamas. Things like forcing her battered body into excruciating Pilates positions, because it was sooo good for the muscles. Things like meditation, presumably so that she could think more deeply about how much she resented her own nerve endings. These, obviously, were the suggestions of specialist consultants who were rather clever but had never lived inside a body in constant crisis.

What Chloe actually did to cope was take her medication religiously, write fanciful lists, play The Sims, and live through it. Sometimes it was hard, but she managed by whatever means necessary.

Right now, her aches and pains had faded to a low background hum and her mind felt clearer than it had in ages. She scrubbed the three days’ fever sweat from her scalp, smiling as she fingered the cute little kinks growing out at her roots. It was almost time for another chemical relaxer; she didn’t have the endurance to care for her natural texture, pretty as it was. After conditioning, she lathered herself with entirely too much scented soap, standing long enough to rinse all the necessary bits. She watched the water send white suds sliding over her skin, like clouds moving over the earth. When she was sick and tired of being sick and tired, she clung to moments like this: the first shower after a flare-up.