Part of the arrangement (unspoken) is that they don’t ask one another questions they don’t know — or want to know — the answers to. Alison doesn’t ask about the pills in Beth’s purse, or how the hell she got to Alison’s at midnight during a snowstorm, already drunk on a bottle of cheep whiskey. Beth doesn’t ask how Alison knows she likes hot cocoa with cinnamon instead of whipped cream, or where she learned to kiss like she is dying and being brought back to life all at once.
Beth doesn’t ask what Alison tells the kids, or Donnie, to keep them out of the basement until the storm blows over. Alison doesn’t cup Beth’s face in her hands and ask, “Can we?” “Could you?” but silently undoes the zipper on her jacket, the scarf around her neck, the buttons of her blouse and whispers “Please.”
Neither wonder what she means.