Gloria had kicked off her shoes.

Trent was working the champagne cork with a towel over the bottle.

Brooke stood in the center of my rug with her hands clasped under her belly.

Gloria said something.

Brooke threw her head back and laughed.

Trent held his arm out under the lamp and turned it so the diamonds scattered little white flecks across the ceiling.

They lifted their glasses.

Four of them, and Walt hadn’t even arrived yet.