“I’ll support whichever of them is the prettier one,” Anthony deadpanned and Charlotte guffawed, which caused the rest of us to break out into laughter as well.

As wonderful as the trip was, it wasn’t the highlight of my month. When Dominic left for Colorado in the middle of the month, I used that time to plan and host a sleepover for Charlotte, Lynn, Grace, Mira Judd (who is a nurse that Florence introduced me to), and – you’ll never believe this – Margaret!

When I read in your letter that you’re enjoying the way she’s handling the advice column, I just couldn’t contain my excitement at the thought of telling you that she’ll be attending my sleepover. As juvenile as it sounds, it made me insanely happy.

You know that I never had many friends back in Uinta, and I am just starting to see howpoorthat made me in certain ways. How deprived. Almost emotionally illiterate about some things.

Anyway, I worried that Mira wouldn’t have fun since she is older than most of us (she’s 30) and new to the group, but Florence wasn’t wrong when she suggested that I include her. She fit in perfectly with the rest of us and we already made plans to repeat the experience next time Dominic is out of town.

We stayed in the whole weekend – we talked, played board games, cooked, baked, and just spent time together. Thanks to the new couch, I had enough space for everyone. Mira and Margaret slept on the couch, Lynn and Charlotte in the guest room, and Grace shared a bed with me. It was like what I always imagined the all-female boarding school fromA Little Princesswas like.

But it was also eye-opening. Five minutes into the sleepover, after I’d asked everyone to please remove their shoes, Charlotte had wistfully said: “My late father would always forget to take his off and would track mud all over our house. I can still hear my mother yelling at him for it, and see him shoot me a wink.”

“Your mother was yelling at her mate?” I asked, incredulous.

It was their turn to be incredulous. Thus began the first of the many deep conversations we’d have in the course of the next two days.

I’d explained my strict upbringing, my widowed father and his quiet chosen mate, and they’d shared stories of growing up witnessing many different kinds of relationships among the mated couples around them. Margaret mostly remained silent, but I figured that was a habit she'd acquired through her work as a mating counselor.

I smiled at her as I removed a piece of lint from her leggings, which made her look at me.

“How come you decided to move to this pack?” I asked her something I’d been wondering about.

Her bio in the magazine said she was originally from Pennsylvania.

“Dr. Jackson is an old friend. When I complained to her about feeling restless and needing a change, she suggested moving here,” she shrugged.

“I hope you’ll like living here,” I said and she smiled warmly. Something about her pear smell reminded me of my late mother and the way she used to hug me.

I told them my first heat was coming up, and the mated females gave me some good advice, but they also kind of scared me. Grace has no pups, despite having been mated for five years, and Mira has a 4-year-old she conceived during her sixth heat. I guess the fuss about our family history made me believe I’d conceive on my first try, but now that I think about it, I shouldn’t get my hopes up in advance.

It’s times like these that I miss Mother the most. Don’t get me wrong, I love you and appreciate you and I know I always have your support, but it's just... I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.

I hope you don’t mind my thinking out loud in a way as I’m writing. I rarely feel comfortable enough to say whatever comes to mind these days. But I feel like I’m getting there with the females from the sleepover.

Mention your mate, I reminded myself.

And as you know, Dominic already knows everything that I’m thinking.

And I hate it.

I couldn’t stop thinking about some of the conversations that happened during the sleepover weekend. Charlotte was asking Margaret about her job, and whether she had many clients.

“More couples are in counseling than ever before, I believe,” had been Margaret’s response.

“Why do you think that is?” Mira asked. “My grandfather always talks about how females nowadays are more high maintenance, but I don’t necessarily see that in my friends.”

“No,” Margaret agreed. “It was different for our grandmothers and their mothers, wasn’t it? What’s a good mate for you, Lynn?”

“Someone kind, good, attentive, loving, protective, supportive,” Lynn slowly listed things until Charlotte interrupted her, saying, “You should appreciate how hard she’s trying to be vague and not to describe her mate right now,” and we all laughed.

“See, most of those are somewhat emotional and soft attributes, no?” Margaret looked around at us. “Can you tell us about a normal day for you and your mate, Mira?”

Mira frowned as she thought about it.

“Let’s say I worked the night shift. I come home around 8 am, we have breakfast, and then,”

“Wait. Who makes the breakfast that you eat?” Margaret interrupted.