“What about the video?” Grady asks.

“What about it?” I say, putting my phone back into my purse.

“Who else has it?”

“Oh. Don’t worry about that,” I say. “You two act right, and it will be deleted.”

“Act right?” he asks with a flash of anger in his eyes. “Are you threatening us? Because that sure sounds like a threat—”

“Of course not. I’d never threaten anyone,” I say with a smile. “I’m simply giving you a small incentive to do the right thing.”

“How long do I have to stay off of social media?” Munich asks.

“Hmm. How about forever? Does forever work?”

“But social media is my livelihood—”

I resist the urge to tell her she should have thought about that before she fucked my best friend’s fiancé. Instead, I say, “That’s for you to decide. A week? A month? It’s entirely up to you. Use your judgment. Your fantastic judgment.”

She nods and whispers okay, her tears still flowing.

I slide out of the booth, then pause at the head of the table. “All righty, then,” I say, looking straight at Grady. “I gotta run. Do you mind paying for my coffee?”

“No problem.”

“Why, thank you, Grady,” I say. “You’re such a gentleman!”

—

When I arrive back at Hannah’s place, I find her and Tyson sitting together on the sofa.

“What’s the latest?” I ask, settling into the chair across from them.

“I was just telling him about my mother,” Hannah says, giving me a suspicious look. “What about you? Did you get that cranberry juice?”

I smile and say, “Would you believe that my symptoms cleared up?”

“Okay, Lainey,” Hannah says, crossing her arms across her chest. “What did you do?”

I shrug, then say, “Nothing, really. I just had a brief meeting.”

“A brief meeting with whom?” she asks.

“A brief meeting with Grady.” I pause. “And Munich.”

Hannah’s eyes grow huge. Then she shakes her head and smiles. “You’re too much.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“So spill it. What happened?” she asks, looking some combination of appalled and impressed and grateful.

“Well. The three of us met at Goldbergs…and had a nice little chat.” I pause. “I may have also mentioned that we have an incriminating video—”

“Lainey!” Hannah groans. “You told them that I took a video?”

“Not at all. I just sort of implied that one was obtained,” I say. “Needless to say, you’ll be getting your money back for all that furniture.”

“Lainey! You blackmailed them?” Hannah says. “You could get in so much trouble!”

“I’m sure she didn’t put anything in writing,” Tyson says, raising his brow, studying my face.

“Of course not,” I say.

“Good,” Tyson says, then turns back to Hannah. “How about we just put Grady and Berlin on the back burner for now? We need to deal with your mother. I know you’re exhausted, but you really need to go over there and set the record straight.”

“I don’t know if I’m up to that,” Hannah says, looking utterly defeated.

“Yes, you are,” I say. “And I’m going with you.”

—

The house Hannah grew up in is a large white colonial with black shutters that has always reminded me of the Father of the Bride house, which is funny because Hannah’s dad is a dead ringer for Steve Martin. Like Mr. Banks, the character he plays in the movie, Mr. Davis dotes on his daughter. Adores her. But unlike Mr. Banks, Hannah’s father is painfully passive, unwilling to intervene when his wife treats their daughter like shit.

As Hannah parks her car under the vine-covered porte cochere, she lets out a long sigh.

“It’s going to be okay,” I say. “We got this.”

“I don’t know, Lainey. She’s so impossible,” Hannah says. “Every time I think I’ve ‘got this,’ she gaslights me…and finds a way to spin things around.”

“Yes, but it’s two against one today,” I say. “Now, c’mon. Let’s roll.”

A few seconds later, we walk through the side door, directly into the kitchen, where Mrs. Davis is sitting at the counter, reading a magazine. As she hops off her stool, I notice that she has on kitten heels with bows. I can’t think of a shoe style I dislike more.

“Hannah! You should have called first! The place is a mess!” she says, tidying an already neat pile of mail. Clearly, she is rattled, but she quickly recovers. “Lainey—it’s so nice to see you, dear! What a wonderful surprise!”

“It’s great to see you, too, Mrs. Davis,” I say. “And your home looks beautiful. As always.”

“Thank you, but I would have straightened up more if I’d known…” She gives Hannah a pointed look as Mr. Davis rounds the corner in a pink polo, khaki shorts, and loafers with tassels.

“Why, hello there, kiddo!” he says, giving me a big hug. “Great to see you in person! Congrats on all your amazing success!”

“Aw. Thanks, Mr. Davis,” I say. “I appreciate that.”

“Would you like some coffee? Have you eaten?” Hannah’s mother asks me, completely ignoring her heartbroken daughter.

“Oh, I’m good, thank you.” I pause, then say, “I just had coffee with Grady, actually.”

She swallows, then takes a deep breath through her nose. “Oh?”