Leila was selling essential oils. She invited all us girls over for a tiki party and gave everyone scalp massages.

He took off his shirt and posed, and then posed again and again. We all said Wowww at first but then after a while we didn’t say anything. When he was done he got up and shrugged, kissed his wife on the head, and went back to the baby. Leila made it like a real party even though she was hoping to sell some oils. There were mai tais and appetizers, a big bowl of rum punch, a hollowed out pineapple man in the middle of the table with a scowl made out of kiwi. Everyone dressed tropical. It was before Christmastime and their tree was up. Beside the tree was a little table set up with all her products on display. Roller balls and droppers, little glass tubes with names like Wake Up and Wind Down. Sweet Dreams. Most of us had worked with her and knew each other from the office. After a few drinks she confided in us that she was so depressed after the baby came she wanted to drown herself in the pool. Then she walked us all over to the sliding glass door onto the tiny balcony so we could look down at the apartment building pool seven stories below, covered with a tarp for winter. Can you believe I really thought about doing that? she asked. She said she tried essential oils at the urging of a neighbour who brought some over as a gift, and that her mental health made a complete turn around. I looked at her. She was still carrying some of the baby weight, but had successfully tucked herself into her old clothes. Her waist was broader. Her hair was ironed but humid, a web of hairs knitting themselves over the top of the rest. She’d carefully applied makeup but the beads of sweat forming on her upper lip had pearlized with a blend of lipstick and cream. She gave me a glossy smile and I squeezed her arm.