Role Playing(2)

Okay. Maybe longer.

Deb looked amused. “How’re you holding up?” she asked. “It must be so strange, Kit moving away so far. Of course, we always knew he’d be going off to college, but Seattle’s so far away!”

Maggie felt like her chest was caving in on itself. She nodded curtly.

Deb either didn’t notice, or did a good job pretending. “Harrison misses him something fierce,” she continued, referring to her own son, “but at least they can still text and play video games online or whatever. When did you drop him off at U Dub?”

“Two weeks ago,” Maggie croaked, then cleared her throat. “I drove him over, got him settled in the dorms.”

Deb tutted. “Empty nest. And you’re all alone on that big property! Not even a dog!”

Shut up shut up shut up.

“I’m fine,” Maggie said instead.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Deb instantly crooned. “You must be lonely. I know I would be if Harrison left town! Especially since the divorce . . .”

“I’ve been divorced for five years,” Maggie snapped before she could stop herself.

Deb pulled away for a second, her expression sad. “My divorce,” she clarified.

Oh, shit. Right.

Maggie vaguely remembered that Deb had gotten divorced, what, a year ago? Guilt pummeled her. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“That’s fine,” Deb responded, with a cheery smile. Deb was nothing if not cheery, Maggie remembered. Kit and Harrison had been best friends from grade school on, and while Maggie was hardly what anyone would call social, she’d still interacted with Deb—waving hi when one or the other dropped their kid at the respective best friend’s house, talking to her while volunteering for whatever school functions Maggie couldn’t weasel out of. “My point was, even though Harrison moved out after graduation, he’s constantly over, raiding the fridge. Doing his laundry.” She laughed. “It’s like he still lives there!”

Maggie frowned, then remembered what Kit had told her: Harrison had moved in with his girlfriend right after school ended. The two of them eighteen years old. Dear God. “How is Harrison doing, anyway?” Maggie asked.

Deb shrugged. “Harrison’s still working over at the hardware store, but he’s saving up money to go to truck-driving school . . . or at least, he should be,” Deb said. “Until the latest game console comes out, and then he buys that. But that’s Anna’s problem now, right?”

Anna. Harrison’s girlfriend, she presumed. “And Anna’s doing all right?”

“Well, she’s not pregnant, thank God,” Deb said, and Maggie choked. “So I’m counting it as a win. What are you doing with yourself these days?”

“Working,” Maggie said. “Really busy.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Deb cooed. Then Deb’s eyes traveled over her, and Maggie suddenly got a sense of what she must look like from the outside. She was wearing a fleece sweat jacket, stained with something she’d eaten, over an old Siouxsie and the Banshees T-shirt, thin and frayed. Her jeans had holes in the knees, not out of any fashion sense but because they were her oldest pair and the damned things had finally worn out. She was wearing knockoff UGGs that had mud on them. She wasn’t sure she’d combed her wavy hair, which was down past her shoulder blades, and she certainly wasn’t wearing any makeup, since she never did.

She probably looked like a natural disaster survivor.

“You know what you need?” Deb said, her voice determined. “You need to get out.”

“I am out,” Maggie protested. “Look. Here I am, out at the store.”

Deb laughed, a trilling sound. Maggie felt herself scowl at it and then forced herself to pull it together. The last thing she needed was for Harrison to get back to Kit, claiming that his mother had been a bitch to Harrison’s mother at the Tasty Great.

“No, silly,” Deb said. Another quick once-over of Maggie’s clothes and hair, and her smile was even brighter, if a bit forced. “If you have a reason to leave the house, you’ll feel better. I mean, who doesn’t love a reason to dress up a little, am I right?”

Maggie suppressed a shudder.

“I don’t like leaving the house, though. In fact, I’ll do a lot to actively avoid leaving the house. Case in point.” She gestured to the industrial-size box of ramen.

“I know! You could come to book club tomorrow! I’m hosting, and you know where I live.”

Maggie balked. “Oh, I don’t . . . I haven’t even read . . . whatever book you’re reading,” she tried.

“Nobody reads the book,” Deb said with a laugh. “It’s just an excuse to have a potluck, day drink, and gossip.”

“Wow. That sounds . . .” Like hell on earth! “I mean, I wouldn’t even know anyone.”

“You’d know me,” Deb said. “That’s it, I’m not taking no for an answer. You can’t let yourself just be miserable, alone in your house! We single girls need to stick together, now that our kids are grown!” She let out that trilling laugh again.

Maggie grimaced. “I really don’t think so.”

I would rather eat my own intestines than cross your threshold.

“Well, if you change your mind, it starts at two. You might want to grab something to bring—again, we’re always up for desserts. Or booze!” Deb then moved in, giving her a quick and unwelcome hug. It made Maggie almost sad that she’d showered that morning . . . a four-day-long unbathed Maggie would’ve probably made Deb reconsider her book club invitation. Then Deb waved, pushing her own cart in the direction of the bakery section.