They met six years ago at a party in Sacramento that Dana remembered mostly for the bad wine.
She was thirty-four then, married to Marcus for a year, and new enough to the lifestyle to still flush when strangers complimented her body. Joanne, thirty-eight, a pharmacist with laugh lines, and her husband Ben had been married eleven years.
They'd kept in touch lightly. Texts at holidays. A group photo from a resort the summer before last. Then, six months ago, the thread had gone quiet.
This Friday, Dana got a message from Joanne: Ben's in town Thursday. Dinner? Then maybe the rest of the night. Your place or ours — no pressure either way.
Dana showed Marcus. They met at a Thai place on K Street.
"So," Joanne said, when the check had been folded, "where are we?"
"Kitchen table?" Dana said.
"Table's good," Ben said.
They sat. Dana poured two more glasses of wine. For the first twenty minutes they talked about nothing. Easy. Familiar.
Joanne finished her wine and stood.
"Marcus," she said. "Do you want to see what happens when two couples who've done this a dozen times get back in a room together?"
"Neither," he said. "I want to watch you both first."
Joanne smiled. She and Ben stood, looked at each other for a beat, and went to the kitchen counter. They didn't perform. Ben's hand went to the back of Joanne's neck, not around it. Joanne pressed her back against the counter and let him kiss down her throat, slow.
"Come here," Joanne said.
Dana crossed the kitchen. Joanne turned and took Dana's face in both hands and kissed her. She tasted like lemongrass and wine. Her mouth was warm and unhurried and certain. Joanne's hand worked the buttons of Dana's blouse. She pulled Dana close, one knee between Dana's, and Dana felt the weight of her against her thigh.
Marcus crossed the kitchen. He put his hand on Dana's hip and looked at his wife. "Show me," he said.
Joanne and Marcus moved into the bedroom. Dana stood at the kitchen counter with Ben. He took her hands, turned her, pressed her against the cabinets, and kissed her slow and certain.
When it was over, they sat on the couch all four of them. "Same time next month?" Joanne said. Dana was just smiling at her husband's arm around her, thinking: this is the middle of the road. And we're still on it.
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