I changed outfits three times.
I am aware of how that sounds.
The woman who had kept her composure in acquisition negotiations, who had sat across a table from Gerald's lawyer for six hours without conceding a single meaningful point, who had rebuilt a life from components that should not have held standing in her bedroom on a Saturday afternoon unable to commit to what to wear to a dinner.
The third outfit was the first one. I had gone through the second and the fourth and ended up back at the beginning, which seemed like information.
I put on the first outfit.
Put the other things away.
Stood in front of the mirror and thought: you are forty years old, you have survived things that would have broken other people, you are going to a gathering of human adults who have, by all availab
