A December to Remember (9)
“So what if there is? Are you slut-shaming me?”
“No. I’m saying that you both lean toward imprudent partners.”
Maggie was saved from further offense by her children arriving; she cast a disgruntled glance in Simone’s direction as she walked away.
“Why do you do that?” asked Evette.
“What?”
“You barely see Maggie from one year to the next, and then as soon as you’re in a room with her you insult her.”
“I did no such thing!”
Evette shook her head in exasperation. “You tell me you wish you and she were closer, and then when the chance arises you push her away.”
Simone shrugged. Sometimes she wished her wife was less observant. The truth was, she did want to be closer to Maggie, but the distance between them had grown so steadily over the years, she didn’t know how to bridge the gap.
“And as for Star,” Evette went on, without waiting for Simone to reply, “that business has gone on for long enough. I know Stu stole from you too, but I lost family heirlooms in the robbery and if I can lay my grievances to rest, then so can you.”
“You might have forgiven her, but I’m not done being angry yet. She allowed her junkie boyfriend to violate our home.” She felt Evette’s hand on hers.
“I think we both know that you’re using Star as a convenient vessel for the real source of your pain.”
Simone shot a glare at her wife and automatically held a hand to her stomach but said nothing. There hadn’t been words invented yet that would adequately describe the feelings raging inside her, and no matter how much her wife cajoled, she couldn’t bring herself to use the words that were at her disposal. She didn’t know what would happen if she did. No stress, she told herself, taking a deep breath as she prayed silently to the universe that this one would stay cozy inside her.
* * *
“Mama, are these people from Hogwarts?” asked Verity, looking around the pub in wonder.
“No, darling. These are Granddad’s friends.”
“Are you doing okay?” Patrick asked. “Is there anything you need me to do?”
Maggie’s heart swelled with pride. He was such a good boy. She corrected herself—he was such a good man. His dad would have been proud. Patrick was a year old when Josh, his dad—and love of her life—had died, leaving her a widow at twenty-six. Patrick looked a lot like his dad, the same dark mop of unruly hair and square jaw, same build even—not especially tall but wiry—but his big round eyes were all Maggie; he’d inherited the North green eyes, as had his sister.
“I’m fine, darling. It’s gone as well as I could have hoped. Your granddad would have enjoyed it.”
“What about the aunts? Have they helped out at all?”
“Um, yes, they helped lay out the buffet.”
“Wow. Thank god they came.”
“Thanks for looking after Verity.”
Patrick waved it away. “The old folks are really celebrating, huh?”
Maggie let her gaze follow his around the room. At least twelve couples—at a cursory glance—were very publicly making out: some on the dance floor, others sitting on laps. One couple had laid their dentures on beer mats, the better to snog.
“Maybe you should take Verity home,” she ventured.
“Yeah,” he agreed warily. “I think you’re right. We can’t ever unsee this.”
With Verity protesting, Patrick ushered her back out of the pub. Maggie waved them off and slumped down in a chair. Joe came over and sat beside her.
“You made it through the day,” he said, handing her a glass of wine.
“Unfortunately, it isn’t over yet.” She took a sip and briefly closed her eyes as the smooth liquid ran down her throat.
“Randy devils, aren’t they?” Joe observed.
“I feel like an ineffectual chaperone at a school disco.”
“I guess they’re grabbing their moments while they still can.”
“It’s not only moments they’re grabbing.”
“I’m sorry about earlier. I feel like I ambushed you. I got swept up in all this and blurted it all out like a dumb teenager. I’m sorry if I made your day even harder.”
Her heart squeezed. Perhaps if she wasn’t in quite so much danger of being incurably in love with Joe, she could go along with his wishes. But the stakes were too high for her to risk either of their hearts.
“You didn’t make it harder,” she reassured him, smiling. “You are more than I deserve.”
“I disagree.” He looked at her so earnestly that her breath caught, and she had to look away. She really should have read the small print in the “friends with benefits” manual. It might work as a concept, but the reality of having a fulfilling sex life with your best friend—and employee—was that all the things you already admired about them became heightened and more intense, while the bonds of your friendship became more vulnerable to stress fractures.
“My sisters have managed to avoid each other all day, which is something to be thankful for,” she said, moving to safer topics.
“They seem nice. Individually, that is. You described them well; I recognized them instantly. Obviously, the green eyes were a giveaway.”