Chapter One


Okay, here’s one of those life lessons I think we all know. When someone looks you in the eye, takes a deep breath, and says, “We have to talk,” nothing good is going to come from it. People do not feel they have to warn you when they are about to pay you a compliment or give you that gold bangle you’ve been angling for. But when you hear the word talk, especially from one of your nearest and dearest, the correct response is to do pretty much what my dog, Annie, does when someone says bath in her presence. You run. You swallow back the sick feeling in your stomach, and you ignore the ice sliding down the back of your neck, and you take off. Because even those of us who insist that oh, no, we had no clue what was coming, we never dreamed of it . . . well, somewhere deep down we did know. We just couldn’t face it. So we pretend we didn’t hear the T word, and we run. At least, that’s what I did when my husband, Jake, said those fateful words on a peaceful Saturday in Manhattan, when we were sitting around not doing much of anything. I immediately got to my feet.

“I think I’ll go for a run,” I chirped. I always get chirpy when I’m in denial about something. “It’s a perfect day for it, and I’m doing so well with the diet, I’ll just take a quick jog around the park.”

Jake and I both knew I didn’t jog anymore. Not since I’d gained thirty-two pounds. For the record, the two of us also knew my diet wasn’t going all that well either, but that was one of the things we didn’t discuss—one of the many things, I realized later, when I looked back on it. “I’ve lo...