That Saturday, the temperature made it into the high 70s, warm enough for every American in Toronto to celebrate the unseasonable autumn warmth outside…mostly by barbequing. Luke insisted on inviting some American expats over to their apartment as well. Cooking was one of the few areas in which he felt completely superior to Nick, so he wanted to take advantage of his grilling prowess and show off a little for June. Besides, she needed to see her Gilead friends, and maybe meet some new people. Canadian people, to remind her how normal people talk and act.

All three adults had chosen the upbeat playlist together: 80s and 90s college rock for June, a French singer named Jain that Luke liked, and 60s Motown for Nick. Some of the guests, including June and Luke, danced. Dancing was one of the hobbies they had shared Before, and they were good at it. Not wanting to see June's body swaying that close to another man, Nick opted to dance with Hannah or Nichole. Mostly, he stayed in the kitchen—especially after Luke caught him staring at June, and proceeded to dance with her as suggestively as he could in a public setting. Nick retreated, as Luke wished. The husband was in a territorial mood, like a dog with his fur standing on end.

Eventually, Luke tired of that game and took the role of grillmaster, serving chicken and burgers along with the requisite salads and corn on the cob brought by guests. Rita had contributed a few different side dishes—the ones she knew Nick and June loved, the ones that reminded Hannah of Gilead's food. When Nick saw she had brought along her version of roasted potatoes, he actually kissed her on the cheek in gratitude. "Potatoes are all you need to make you happy?" she teased.

Everyone sat in the living room or kitchen, crowded together amicably to eat. "That's a nice dress," Luke told one of his guests appreciatively. A red mini dress, with black accents. Elegant, with just a touch of sexy. The kind of thing June would like. And after five years in Canada, Luke had enough money saved up to spend it frivolously. He looked forward to spoiling his wife a little. "Where'd you get it?"

The woman smiled at the compliment. "Anthropologie."

June's favorite mall store, of course. He nudged his wife on the couch next to him. "That'd look good on you. I'll buy you one."

She smiled blandly, took a bite of potato salad, and said nothing.

"You can't buy her that dress," muttered Nick, who was standing on Luke's other side and scowling like usual.

Luke took another gulp of his rum and Coke before turning towards him. "You know, I'm getting really tired of you and your pronouncements, telling me what I can and cannot do for my wife, or with my wife. She's my wife."

The Temptations continued to sing cheerfully in the background as the party guests grew quieter.

Nick stared into his drink. "Right."

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or perhaps Nick's flat, insincere tone, but Luke could not bring himself to let the matter drop. "Somehow you always think you know her better than I do. You don't know her, okay? Not like I do."

"I know how to get her pregnant." The sentence left his mouth before he could edit himself.

Across the now-quiet room, Moira clicked her tongue. "Too much testosterone here," she murmured to Emily. "That's why I prefer lesbian parties."

"I don't know, I'm kinda enjoying this," Emily whispered back. Her blue eyes caught Nick's, and she nodded once in understanding.

Luke fought the urge to stand up and get in Nick's face. Conscious of June tensing next to him, he remained seated. "Yeah, maybe, but I'm the one she's in love with. You're just the stud dog she uses now and then."

Every muscle in Nick's belly clenched. Direct hit, that one.

"Stop it." June finally spoke up. She was addressing Luke, but staring at her food.

Moira looked first at June—who looked anguished—and then at Nick. Alarm bells went off in her head at the stormy look on the man's face. Better to end this before they started swinging and wrecked the apartment. "Okay, boys, that's really enough now," Moira called out, stepping between the two men. "Why don't we all play a nice game of shutthefuckup and eat some barbeque? How 'bout that?"

"Yeah, whatever," Luke muttered. With one last glance at Nick, he added, "You're still an asshole."

Nick wasn't quite finished. He spoke loudly enough for the guests in the kitchen to hear him. "And you're a fucking moron if you think any of these women"—he gestured at June, Emily, Moira, and Erin, all ex-handmaids—"would ever put on another red dress as long as they live. It's a symbol of slavery, a topic you surprisingly seem to know nothing about. They'll never wear red again. Just like your daughter will never wear pastel pink again."

"Praise be," Emily said into the silence that followed.

"Praise fucking be," Moira added. Nick looked over at her a long moment, then grinned.

Luke's expression fell as he turned towards June. "I'm sorry," he murmured to her. "I didn't understand that."

You understand nothing, Nick thought for the hundredth time. But this time, he held his tongue.