“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” I say. She toys with her napkin, ripping it in half, then balling it up in her fist. When she’s destroyed it, she drops the wadded-up paper in her water glass. I watch it float before lifting my eyes to her face.

“He cheats on me,” she says. “All the time. The trips we go on are always after I’ve caught him. To buy me back, I suppose.”

I don’t know what to say, so I stare at her dumbly until she speaks again.

“It’s all a farce. I’m a farce. I thought if we had a baby, things would get better, he’d be more hesitant to break up our family, but then it was hard to get pregnant and even harder to keep a baby in my body. Now I can’t have children at all and this is just my reality.”

I reach across the fries and empty shot glasses and touch her hand—lightly at first, and then I hold it. “I’m sorry,” I say, though the words sound shallow and uncomforting even to my own ears. “Have you thought about leaving him?”

She shakes her head. Her nose is throbbing red, and I see that she’s started to cry. “No, I can’t. I love him.”

That makes me pull my hand back and stare at the plate of half-eaten fries. I’m all too familiar with that feeling, aren’t I? Not knowing if I should leave, trying to make things better—never quite being able to. I’m drunk and inspired by Lauren’s honesty, so I say, “My husband has two other wives.” And then feel the heat rise to my face. She’s the first person I’ve told, and she’s someone I’ve always claimed to hate. It’s funny how things work.

Lauren laughs, thinking I’m kidding, but the serious expression on my face causes her mouth to drop open. Her own hurt forgotten in the wake of my shocking news, she stumbles over her words. “You’re joking. Oh my God, you’re not joking...”

I feel part relief and part fear. I know I shouldn’t have told her, that it was dangerous both to Seth and the other women, but alcohol and sadness have loosened my tongue, and, well, it’s too late to take it back now.

“I’m a polygamist,” I say, just to clarify. “Though I’ve never met either of them, they don’t even live near here.”

“Let me get this straight,” Lauren breathes. “You knowingly let your husband cheat on you...with two other wives?”

I nod. She bursts into laughter. At first, I’m upset. This wasn’t really something to laugh about, but then, as if through a haze, I see what she sees and I can’t help but start laughing, too.

“What a fucked-up pair we are.” And with that she stands to go to the bar to get more drinks. We really don’t need to drink anymore, but also we do. When she carries them back to our table I smile wanly at her. Lauren looks at me over the rim of her water glass—the paper removed—with a smile equally as weak.

“What a mess we’ve made of our lives, eh? Well, what’s he like—your Seth? Is he worth it?”

“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “I used to think so, otherwise I wouldn’t have married him. But lately, I’ve been feeling different. I’ve even gone as far as finding them online just so I can spy.”

Her eyes grow big, two saucers of vulnerability. “It’s like a movie,” she says. “In fact, if I were sober I don’t think I’d believe you about any of this.”

“Are you going to leave John?” I ask her.

“Are you going to leave Seth?” she shoots back.

“I really just want those other women to go away.”

“Here, here,” she says, lifting her glass in a toast. But she doesn’t look convinced; she looks concerned.

We part ways right where we met, only now it’s too dark to see the blue tree trunks. She gives me a brief but meaningful hug, after promising to never tell my secret, and I say I’ll do the same. It feels good to have someone know, even someone I’ve always disliked. That’s what I keep thinking on my walk back to the condo. Like someone has taken some of the burden off my shoulders and I can move around a little easier. I wonder if she feels the same. If we can somehow help each other.

   FIFTEEN

I’m lying on the couch listening to sad music: The 1975, The Neighborhood, Jule Vera. My eyes are closed; my hangover has seized my head and my stomach. I shift onto my side, keeping my eyes closed. Amazing how once you open a door for something, there’s no going back. All you can do is brace yourself as you get sucked in, deeper and deeper. Regina and Hannah, Regina and Hannah—they’re all I can think about. I stack myself against what I know about them, I measure our flaws, sieve through them. I texted Hannah this morning, just to check on her, but she hasn’t answered. She is my ally without knowing it. My fate feels tied to hers. I wonder if she ever wishes she could get rid of Regina.

Regina is more successful than I will ever be, more confident. Hannah is younger, prettier. I am somewhere in the middle of both of them, a medium to balance out the extremes. Seth has texted me more than usual this week—he’s trying.

I heave myself from the couch around noon and head for the bathroom. When I get out of the shower, I look at myself naked in the bathroom mirror and try to imagine what Seth sees when he looks at me. I’m short, without the petiteness of Regina, my hips wide and my thighs full and muscular. My breasts spill over whatever shirt I’m wearing; out of a bra they hang loose and full. All three of us are completely different body types, and yet the same man desires us. It doesn’t add up. Men have a type, don’t they? Especially one as particular as Seth. Seth, who likes Mary-Kate Olsen but not Ashley—definitely not Ashley, he says.

His type would have to be Regina, since she’s who Seth married first. But weren’t we still finding ourselves in our twenties? Perhaps he discovered his type is me. That’s wishful thinking, when you’re one of three. He once told me that he was drawn to everything about Regina at that party, enough so that he approached her on the off chance that she’d shoot him down. He’d been attracted to me, too—the way he’d flirted with me, his eyes always filled with what I considered lust. I don’t know how he met Hannah, and I need to know. The photo of Regina flashes in my mind, the taller, younger blond standing next to her—is it Hannah? Did they know each other? I can wait until I go to Portland for my appointment with Regina, or I can find out now.

Yes, that’s a good idea—a little sleuth work to distract me. I text Hannah again, and before she replies, I’m already throwing things in a small overnight bag. If she’s busy, I could always go snoop around on my own. To my relief, she texts back, delighted that I’m coming. She suggests dinner and a movie. I must be mad, truly, going to dinner and a movie with my husband’s other wife. Some might call me a stalker, some might say I was off my rocker—but what did it matter? Love certainly makes people crazy, I think, zipping up my bag. I imagine she’ll opt for a romantic comedy—something light and sexy. Women her age still have such a rosy outlook on life. But instead, she asks me if I like horror films. I’m a little taken aback. I don’t, of course, but I say I do. I want to see what she has in mind, the type of things that amuse her. Her charming historical house and perfectly put-together meat and cheese board didn’t exactly scream slasher film fanatic. She tells me there’s a psychological thriller she wants to see; it has Jennifer Lawrence in it. I ask if her favorite movie is The Sixth Sense, and she texts back that she hasn’t seen it. I’ve just pulled out of the parking garage. I’m not really paying attention and someone honks at me. It’s The Sixth Sense; who hasn’t seen The Sixth Sense, especially a horror movie fan? She’s that young.