Role Playing(9)

“Um, yes,” she said. “They’re chicken enchiladas.”

“’Bout burned my mouth off!” Cordy made a big show of drinking most of her glass of water. “Good lord. You have to warn a woman!”

Maggie frowned. It barely had half a can of jalape?os in it and, frankly, enough dairy to douse most of the heat. She’d even drained the can before adding what she thought was a conservative amount. Normally she just dumped the whole thing in, liquid and all, enjoying what Kit called the “ring of fire” around her lips.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said. “Kit was fine with it that way, and Harrison never complained when he ate it, so it didn’t even occur to me . . .”

“Well, teenage boys will eat anything, won’t they?” Deb said indulgently, as if that explained everything. Maggie felt her frown deepen.

“So, Maggie . . .” Patience assessed her, tapping her chin with a long, manicured nail. “You’re how old?”

Maggie had a tough time swallowing the bite of (unseasoned, mayo-heavy) potato salad on her fork. “Forty-eight.”

“Really?” It was not a compliment. “Hmm. Are you looking to dive back in the dating pool, then? You could always go hang out with Deb and me. We know the best happy hours, and now that Harrison’s moved out and she’s letting me move in, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure my cousin has some fun.”

“Um, no,” Maggie said, in what she hoped was a self-deprecating way. “Dating really isn’t my thing.”

“It can seem hard,” Patience assured her, “but don’t worry. It’s like riding a bike. You just have to get back on the horse.”

Before she could respond to the mixed metaphor, Deb added, “You’re not avoiding dating because of the divorce, are you? Or because you feel too old? Because that’s ridiculous. Good grief, it’s not like your life ends at fifty and you become some sexless robot. It’s not like you’re . . . you’re used up or broken or whatever!”

Maggie sighed. Tell me you’re still pissed about being divorced without saying you’re still pissed about being divorced. “I’m not saying that. I’m just . . .”

“Well, it can make you feel a little broken at the time, I’m sure,” Lisa said, and when Deb turned on her, she held her hands up defensively. “Just saying!”

“It’s been five years since Trev walked out,” Deb said on Maggie’s behalf. “I’ve only been divorced once, and I’m glad. It was worth it. Totally the right decision! I should’ve divorced him sooner, if anything.” Her eyes flashed for a moment. “I sure as hell am not broken!”

“Maybe it’s different for different people,” Klara said with kindness.

Deb ignored her. “Do you think there’s something wrong with you just because he left?” Deb pressed, glaring at Maggie.

“Deb,” Cordy interjected, her face both sympathetic and chastising. Patience leaned in, like she was watching Real Housewives or something. Klara looked placid—seemed like her default setting—and Lisa practically squirmed in discomfort.

Deb read the room, then grumbled. “I just think it’s like giving up. You’re letting him win.”

Maggie took a few deep breaths through her nose. Deb’s divorce had obviously hurt her deeply, and her vehemence was based on some personal issues.

That said, Maggie had also sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to carry someone else’s fucking baggage. Not anymore.

Maggie’s divorce had broken her, no matter what Deb said. It wasn’t an accident or some careless thing, like a mug nudged off a counter, a vase bumped by somebody’s elbow. She was broken like a bottle on a bar edge, and it felt like she had rage pulsing through her every single day. Even after five years, she still had jagged edges that she’d only barely kept from Kit. Now that he was gone, it was like it had all welled to the surface, like a suit of armor made of razor blades.

Dating?

She was ready, maybe even eager, to cut someone.

“I am. Not. Dating,” Maggie said, trying to keep her tone low despite her vehemence. “And I don’t give a fuck what it looks like. To anyone.”

They stared at her. Lisa’s mouth dropped open, and Patience’s eyes went wide.

Probably shouldn’t have dropped an f-bomb at book club, but there it was.

She got up, heading to the kitchen to toss out her paper plate and plastic fork, and the rest followed suit. When she went back to the living room, Patience was hissing furiously at Deb. She fell silent, pasting on a wide smile as Maggie came near.

They talked around her, not surprising after her faux pas. This was why she hated going out to things, she realized. They were talking about quotidian details, people they knew, gossip she couldn’t understand. Maggie felt awkward and bored, with a dollop of guilt at both.

With an eye toward escaping, she walked next to Deb, who was taking a break in her conversation with Patience. “Would you mind getting a selfie with me?”

“Really?” Her smile was delighted. “I wouldn’t think you were the selfie type! Am I following you on Instagram?”

“Um, no,” Maggie said. “This is just personal. For Kit?”

Deb’s eyebrow raised, and she made a sort of tutting noise. “Oh, hon. He’s off to college,” she reprimanded. “I seriously doubt he’s going to be thinking about what his mother’s up to, don’t you?”