Caroline lay on the pool table in the basement, her body a wreck of semen and sweat. She’d been fucked the whole night and the last of the fifty-six men had finally left an hour ago, leaving behind a house that smelled like sex, beer, and something sour. She could hear the distant sounds of cleanup—John and Alex laughing somewhere upstairs, the clatter of bottles being thrown into recycling bins.

But Margaret was still there. She stood by the door, her wine glass refilled, watching her daughter with an expression Caroline couldn't quite read.