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with an SOS pad from the kitchen. Between the tomato bath and the exfoliating, there was absolutely nothing more I could do.
    After wrapping myself in a towel, I wiped the fog from the mirror. “Who are you, Ivie McKie?” I didn’t look like a witch. I looked like the same twenty-four-year-old kindergarten teacher who didn’t do anything even remotely exciting, the same girl who ate frozen dinners four nights a week and bought designer clothes from a thrift store. I used to think I knew everything about me. I was uncomplicated and, like Matt said, boring. Maybe not so boring after all.
    Combing a hand through my wet tangles, I thought back to what Chloe had said about my hair. She had to be imagining things. I looked exactly the same. I rubbed the towel briskly over my head, absorbing as much water as I could, and then pulled it around me again, tucking my damp locks behind my ears.
    Chloe’s ringtone sounded at the same time the doorbell chimed.
    “Hey, shopaholic.” I readjusted my towel as I answered.
    “Let me in.”
    I hung up and plodded down the stairs to the front door. “What are you doing here?”
    “Couldn’t wait,” she said, brushing past me.
    I sucked in a quick breath. “Couldn’t wait for what?”
    “Your explanation.” She pushed her sunglasses into her hair like a tiara then crossed her arms. “You’re keeping something from me, and you’re going to spill this instant .”
    My heart lurched, then stopped before setting off at a thundering pace. “Keeping something from you?” How did she know?
    “Oh, come on. You’ve been my best friend for almost six years. I was there the night you lost your virginity to the Brad Pitt look-alike, who only looked like Brad Pitt after three shots of tequila, by the way. I’m the one who talked you out of drunk dialing every guy in your contact list when fake-Brad broke your heart less than a week later, and I convinced you to give the male population another chance when you vowed to move to Indonesia and become a nun.” She poked my arm to punctuate each thought. “I’ve listened to every secret”—poke—“wish” — poke—“and dream”—poke—“you’ve ever had without once breaking your confidence. And I’m probably the only person alive who’s seen the underwear you really wear when you think no one will see you in your underwear. So don’t even try to hide this shit from me.” She gave me the evil eye. “Unless you don’t trust me anymore.”
    “I… Of course I trust you.” I trusted her, I really did, but some things were just too big.
    “Then…” Her eyes scanned me, and she scrunched up her face as she leaned in to sniff me. “For God’s sake, please tell me why you answered the door in nothing but a towel, in the middle of the afternoon, smelling like… skunk pizza ? You know, I would have never guessed you could possibly smell worse than you did this morning, but congratulations, you’ve proven me wrong.”
    “I smell like skunk pizza?” I sniffed my arm. She was right. “I took a bath in tomato sauce to get rid of the smell. You know, the… uh… farm trip?”
    “Okay, so that explains why you stink, but what about the rest of it? I get why you ditched today, but I can’t stand the suspense anymore. Why is Dr. Doolittle’s car in the exact same place as it was this morning? He never calls in sick.” She eyed me up and down. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting busy with your fiancé, but since we both know that doesn’t happen—at least not in the light of day or without several bottles of wine—I’m assuming you’re keeping something else from me. You aren’t getting kinky up there, are you? I’m all for a little kink, but this”—she waved toward me—“is just weird.” Chloe’s blank expression gave away none of her thoughts.
    “Oh, my God! Chloe, no, I’m—just no.” I convulsed at the thought of “getting kinky” with Matt—in any form. “I’m traumatized,