“Good thing,” said Tippy, lifting her mimosa to her lips. “After all, she’s back on the market. She needs to look her best.”

“The market?” I blinked at her. “I’m not for sale, Tippy.”

“Relax,” Tippy said, patting my arm. “It was a compliment. You’re beautiful, Sylvia. It won’t take you any time at all to find a new husband.”

“Who says she even wants a new husband?” asked Jane. “Marriage can be such a pain. Sometimes I wish Richard would leave me just so I could get a moment’s peace! You must have tons of time for yourself now, Sylvia.”

I could have answered that I hadn’t been looking for any time to myself, I had zero peace whatsoever, and I actually missed my children terribly over the weekends they spent with Brett, but I didn’t.

“Another mimosa, please.”

My former friends exchanged glances as I downed it in a few gulps. I didn’t usually drink this heavily, but it was either swallow it or throw it in their faces, and I didn’t want to make a scene—not yet, anyway.

Then Hilly glanced toward Brett’s table. “This must be so difficult for you, Syl.”

The others murmured in agreement.

“I just don’t know how you’re keeping your cool,” Liz said, the look on her face telling me she kind of wished I might lose it. “I heard about the baby.”

“Baby?” My stomach tightened. “What baby?”

“You don’t know? Well, apparently, Kimmy is pregnant,” Jane said, gleefully breaking the news. “She told everyone at the Ladies Auxiliary Lunch yesterday that she’s four months along.”

“Four months?” I did some quick math—not easy after the amount of alcohol I’d consumed—and realized he had to have knocked her up over the summer, long before he told me he was leaving. “Oh my God.”

“It did cause quite a stir,” Hilly said, “but I’m sure no one there believed those other things she said.”

I stared at her. “What other things?”

“Oh, you know, the usual insults the Other Woman lobs at the First Wife. That Brett was miserable with you for years because you’re such an ice queen. That he told her you were boring in bed. That you didn’t excite him anymore. That he couldn’t even get it up for you.”

I felt like I was melting into a hot, horrifying puddle of humiliation. I couldn’t breathe.

“God, it’s just so crass,” Tippy said before sipping her drink. “I mean, who says those things out loud at lunch?”

As if she hadn’t hung on every single word out of Kimmy’s mouth—as if all of them hadn’t!

“Crass and ridiculous,” Liz huffed. “I mean, she’s practically half his age! But her skin is just perfect. And I bet her boobs don’t sag at all.”

“Well, I haven’t seen her boobs,” I told her, suddenly tired of taking the high road and staying quiet when I wanted to scream. “But maybe if we ask her, she’ll flash us. Clearly she has no problem getting naked in front of other people’s husbands.”

Liz appeared offended. “I only meant that it must be hard for you to see him with someone like her.”

“Because I’m so old and saggy?” I tossed back the rest of my mimosa and ordered another, although the room was already spinning.

“How many of those have you had?” asked Tippy with a judgmental quirk of her brow. “Maybe you should drink some coffee instead.”

“And maybe you should have told me my husband was fucking the salesgirl at J.Crew with the perky tits,” I announced, then glared at the rest of them. “All of you.”

“Sylvia, that’s not really fair,” Tippy said, smoothing her cardigan over her stomach. “I didn’t know for sure. I’d only heard rumors about the—you know . . . divorce.” She whispered the last word, as if by saying it out loud she might manifest its monstrous presence and it would eat all of their marriages alive.

“Same.” Liz nodded. “We didn’t want to say anything because we didn’t want to cause any unnecessary drama. We were only thinking of you.”

“Yes, and I think it’s really a shame that you’re blaming us when this isn’t our fault.” Hilly pouted. “We were trying to be good friends.”

“How?” I cried. “You let me look like a fool! And you completely stopped calling or including me!”

“We didn’t know what to say, Sylvia,” Jane replied, looking uncomfortable. “It’s just so awkward.”

“And did any of you stand up for me yesterday? Did any of you come to my defense and shut down the ugly gossip she was spreading?” I looked every one of them in the eye, knowing the answer already.

“Well, we couldn’t really take sides, could we?” Hilly smoothed her hair. “After all, our husbands are all close with Brett. We’ll have to go to their wedding. We’re still going to have to socialize with them, no matter how terrible it will be to have to make conversation with that infant he’s marrying.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage. You’re all excellent at pretending to be someone’s friend.” I grabbed my fresh mimosa, spilling some over the side of the glass. Then I tipped it up and slammed it.

When the glass was empty, I set it on the marble bar with a clank and tossed my hair. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s something I have to do.”

Not one of them stopped me as I made my way through the country club dining room, but they followed behind like a pack of hounds. I stumbled once, catching myself on the back of someone’s chair, but eventually made it to Brett’s table, where I grabbed a silver pitcher full of ice water.

“Ice queen, huh? I’ll give you ice queen.” Then I dumped the entire thing in his lap.

“Sylvia, what the hell?” Brett jumped up and tons of little cubes fell to the floor, but the crotch of his pants was soaked. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No, actually. I think I just found it.” My adrenaline was pumping—I felt like I could do anything at that moment. “I must have been crazy to think you’d be faithful to me, or to keep the promises you made. You’re nothing but a liar and a cheat.” God, it felt glorious to say the words right to his face! Next, I looked at Kimmy. “And you’re an idiot to think he’s going to be any different with you, but that’s your problem.”

“Enough,” Brett snapped, straightening his tie and glancing around the room. People were staring.

“Actually, I’m just getting started.” Fueled by mimosa and the fury of a woman scorned, I charged for the dance floor at the front of the room, where Santa was standing in front of a red velvet throne and speaking into a microphone. A line of children wound toward the door, eager to sit on his lap, and two teenagers dressed as elves were doing their best to keep the impatient kids under control.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa bellowed, brandishing an old-fashioned scroll. “Let’s see who’s on the Nice List this year—and who’s on the Naughty!”

I marched up to him and grabbed the mic from his hand. “Let me help you with that, Santa.”