After showering, the women went their separate ways for much of the afternoon, Ellie and Meredith going off to an energy-healing workshop, Gwen deciding to listen to her audiobook by the fireplace (“I don’t think I’ve finished a book in months,” she said to them apologetically. “I need this.”), Whitney, Amara, and Claire taking a guided walk along the property with one of the nature specialists.

They all met back for a workshop entitled “Visualizing Your Intentions: Dreams into Action.” A workshop leader instructed them to gather in a circle. Claire sat down next to Amara and looked around the room. It was very beige.

“You should’ve seen Meredith in that energy-healing workshop! She got fiery,” Ellie was saying to Whitney as the other attendees—a retired couple in matching athleisure, a middle-aged mother and her college-bound daughter—trickled in.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Meredith said, blushing. “He was just talking about how crystals were the best way to heal childhood trauma and I was like, ‘Helloooo. I trained for years in cognitive-behavioral therapy, so I beg to differ.’”

“It was awesome,” Ellie said.

The workshop leader clasped his hands and cleared his throat to begin the session. “It’s springtime,” he said, “the time of revitalization and new life, time for us to set aside self-doubt, self-sabotage, and our false obligations. We are responsible for what we manifest here on planet Earth.” Claire and Amara looked at each other, and Amara gave the subtlest of eye rolls. “Let’s go around the room and state our intentions, through saying, ‘This year I will . . .’ I’ll start. This year I will live my truth as a nurturer by adopting a dog.”

“Ooh!” said Ellie. “This year, I will run a half marathon.”

“That’s a really good one,” Meredith said. “This year I will look into going back to work again.” She smiled her unrestrained grin and looked around the circle for approval, but Ellie turned to her, knitting her brow.

“What?” Ellie asked.

“Very part-time,” Meredith said.

“How long have you been thinking about this without telling me?” Ellie asked, hurt in her voice, and Meredith reddened.

“I mean, not that long—”

“Let’s remember that we are on a collective journey right now and save our personal conversations for later,” the workshop leader said as Ellie folded her arms across her chest. “Next member of the circle?”

“Well,” Gwen said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “this year I will make more room for romance in my marriage.”

Whitney blinked. “Hmm,” she said. “This year I will be the best mother I can be.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Gwen said. “Add that to mine too.”

They all turned to Amara, the next one in the circle, who shifted in her seat. “I don’t know. I suppose my goal is to stay sane.”

“Remember to phrase it as ‘This year I will . . . ,’” the workshop leader said.

“This year I will stay sane,” Amara said, her tone exceedingly dry.

On Claire’s turn, she cleared her throat and said the only thing she could think of that was both vague and true enough to share in this room full of her employers. “This year I will take better care of myself.” Whitney flashed her a supportive smile as the circle moved on to the retired couple, so it seemed like she’d done okay.

The workshop leader had them close their eyes and visualize themselves achieving their goals, then handed them each a piece of paper on which they were supposed to write out concrete steps they were going to take. Only drink 4 nights a week, Claire wrote slowly, then scratched out the “4” and wrote “5” instead. She shot a look at Amara, who was chewing on her lower lip, her forehead furrowed as if she were troubled by something.

By the time the workshop was over, Claire was starving. The moms and Claire headed toward the dining room in a flock, like migrating birds. Ellie linked her arm in Gwen’s and power-walked them down the hallway, chatting loudly with Gwen about her resolution to put the spark back into her marriage. Meredith hung back, fiddling with a strand of her hair.

“You okay?” Claire asked her quietly.

“Yeah, totally!” Meredith said, flashing an unconvincing smile.

“Okay,” Claire said.

Meredith took a breath as if to say something, then waved her hand. She walked a few steps before stopping and turning to Claire, agitated. “I didn’t mean to drop the work thing on her in front of everyone. I haven’t even thought about it that much! It’s just that it was at the top of my mind after that energy-healing workshop.”

Claire nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense—”

“And it’s not like I’d be deserting her. It would only be, like, ten hours a week!” They crossed the threshold into the dining room, where Ellie had already settled herself at the table between Whitney and Gwen. Meredith exhaled. “Whatever. I probably won’t do it anyway. But she doesn’t have to be a jerk about it.” She marched to an empty seat on Gwen’s other side and promptly began studying her menu.

The young waiter filling water glasses at their table held out Claire’s seat for her. You don’t have to do that, she wanted to whisper to him. I serve these women, just like you! But that didn’t feel wholly true anymore. So she just thanked him and opened her menu, scanning the options, from fire-roasted eggplant to Chilean sea bass to lamb tagine with quinoa. Each item had a string of numbers listed underneath. She assumed they were prices at first glance, but upon a closer look, she saw that they were actually a list of the calories, the grams of fat, and the amount of sodium in each dish.

Claire leaned over to Amara. “Wait. Where are the prices?”

“Oh, food is included,” Amara said back.

“Like, as much as we want?”

Amara nodded. Fuck yes, this place was all-inclusive! And yet it wasn’t called “all-inclusive”—a term that conjured up sweaty tourists gorging themselves on guacamole at the Club Med buffet, not the delicate plate of marinated raw scallops the waiter laid before Claire as her starting course. Claire stared at the glistening little circles, sprinkled with pomegranate seeds and splashes of olive oil, a plate so beautifully arranged it looked like a work of art. Then she dug on in.

“Gwen, no phones at the table!” Ellie said.

“Sorry,” Gwen said, looking up. “I just wanted to check in on the kids.”

“Good point,” Whitney said, and in a synchronized motion, the moms all pulled out their phones, reading the text messages they found there with various exasperated sighs (“I walked Greg through the grocery list before I left,” Meredith said, “and he still sent me five questions about olive oil.”), typing out I love yous with private smiles on their faces, showing one another pictures that husbands had sent over of their children doing adorable things.