A young friend.
She frowned at herself. She hadn’t actually come out and asked him how old he was. She tried not to think about it, because it frankly didn’t matter. It was platonic.
She wasn’t quite sure why she was so insistent, mentally, about that point. Probably because of his nondisclosed age.
The other guys in the guild weren’t aware of how much time they spent together, although they’d noticed a closer camaraderie. BigDorkEnergy, as usual, had been the first to pipe up.
BigDorkEnergy: R U 2 fuckin or what
OtterLeader: not funny
BigDorkEnergy: GILF man lol
OtterLeader: Seriously. Knock it off.
Maggie got the feeling that Otter, who generally had the patience of a saint, was probably offended by the suggestion, or was perhaps embarrassed by their friendship. It made her sad, a little, but it was also understandable.
Before BDE could get Otter too riled up—or, worse, kicking people out because of things that any shit-talking guild would say—she decided to simply address things head on, as was her wont.
BOGWITCH: Y’all youngsters couldn’t handle me.
BOGWITCH: I’ve got a toy drawer full of fun and a lifetime of being disappointed by men. Why the hell would I settle for you amateurs now?
GandalfTheGay: uh TMI
TheFerocity: OH GROSS
BigDorkEnergy: NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR THAT
BOGWITCH: lol
BOGWITCH: FAAFO, dipshit
SneakyMeat: Hey, no judgment. Get some!
BOGWITCH: Sometimes you have to provide your own fun
BOGWITCH: are we killing shit tonight or what?
Otter then messaged her privately.
OtterLeader: You okay?
BOGWITCH: What, because of them asking if we’re fucking?
BOGWITCH: It’s fine. Srsly. No prob.
OtterLeader: I can make an official rule. These assholes need to quit it.
BOGWITCH: They’re kids. It’s not a big deal.
It occurred to her—he was a kid, too, and he’d never treated her with anything other than respect. It was . . . nice, she realized, absently.
OtterLeader: After the mission, want to hang out? We could live text a movie again.
She felt herself blush—which was ridiculous. But she still said yes.
Everyone in the guild seemed to have plans for Halloween, despite it being on a Monday. Now, it was Tuesday, All Saints’ Day. She’d already done the bulk of her editing, waiting for a few clients to turn in projects or turn around revisions. She did some administrative stuff—invoicing, social media scheduling, making sure bills were paid. Even got some pho broth out to thaw. She usually made a big batch of broth with oxtail, and then fixed a big bowl of noodles with Thai basil, jalape?os, and the usual accoutrements.
She really was a foodie, even if she hadn’t had a chance to indulge in it in years. When Trev had suggested they move out to the Falls, it hadn’t even occurred to her that they would be moving to a small town that only had fast food, an “upscale” restaurant that was basically an Applebee’s Plus with an emphasis on pasta, a sports bar that served nachos and burgers, and a Mexican-food restaurant that she couldn’t really recommend.
Logically, she knew she’d been spoiled for choice in California. Actually living here, where she couldn’t even order Domino’s, had shown her just how spoiled she’d been. Now, she’d had to learn to make a lot of things she’d easily ordered, back in the day.
Not that it would’ve changed her choices. When she’d gotten married, she’d known that Trev would never cheat on her, and while he’d been demanding, he’d also loved her, in his way.
Until she’d had Kit.
She shook her head, erasing the thoughts like clearing an Etch A Sketch.
One of her favorite cuisines, hands down, was Vietnamese. Even though she’d never had pho as a child, she’d fallen in love with it, as well as banh mi and cha gio, when she’d gone to college. Maybe it was silly or strange to try to use food to connect to a culture she’d never been raised with, since that part of her background had died with her mother—Nana Birdie had made sure of that. Her grandparents had tried to pretend that her mother wasn’t Vietnamese, that she was somehow just some brunette Yankee who had stolen away their son from college.
Maybe that was why Maggie had always loved Vietnamese food, semipretending that it was more authentic to her than her grandmother’s shrimp and grits or banana pudding. It was definitely the reason she’d changed her last name to her mother’s maiden name on her divorce. She was tired of her name being tied to people who had tried so hard to mold her into what they wanted her to be.
Her stomach grumbled a little, and her heart ached. Dinner was hours away. She might just indulge herself, and have the pho for lunch.
She needed a distraction. She’d joined the guild only to show Kit that she could interact with people. So far, her IRL interactions had crashed and burned spectacularly. Deb kept inviting her to things—“Girls’ night!” “Mimosa brunch!” “Casino weekend!”—that were really not her cup of tea. So far, she’d managed to dodge Deb’s good intentions and stayed polite, but she was running out of options. At this point, she was afraid Deb might simply come over and kidnap her. Maggie might need a moat. Possibly a minefield. Good spiked barriers made good neighbors.
The problem was, the guild was becoming her focus—and Otter himself was becoming close to a fixation. Maybe Kit was right, and her antisocial tendencies were damaging her. She’d never have thought that she’d be soaking in some twenty-year-old’s attention like sand sucking up water.
She sighed. It had been a while since she’d talked to Rosita. Rosita had moved away sophomore year of high school, but the two of them had managed to stay in touch all these years. Not religiously or anything, but usually about once every two months or so. They caught each other up on their marriages （including Maggie’s divorce woes）， their kids, their lives. She was due a call. She texted Rosita, only to have her text back: WORK IS CRAZY. CALL YOU TONIGHT?
That pruned off that avenue. She sighed, then went on Twitter, DMing her friend Mac.
Maggie Le Editor: Hey, you there?
Macross Sagittarius: As it happens. What’s up?
Macross Sagittarius: Surprised you’re not on Blood Saga. Seems like that’s your go-to hang out lately.
Maggie Le Editor: Yeah. It’s been fun. I like my guild.
Maggie Le Editor: Too much, maybe? I was thinking of taking a break from it for a while.
Macross Sagittarius: Okay, spit it out.
Maggie Le Editor: ??
Macross Sagittarius: You only DM me in the middle of the day—your day, not mine—to either scream about problem clients, tell me about worries about Kit, or let me know something about Pedro Pascal.
Maggie Le Editor: I could be just whiny and feeling blue. Or have something amazing to tell you.
Macross Sagittarius: No, you tend to save that stuff till nighttime, when you know I’m having insomnia and because you don’t interrupt your workday.
Macross Sagittarius: What’s the deal, sweetie? Tell Auntie Mac. Some spoiled client driving you up a wall?
Maggie briefly considered making something up, just so she wouldn’t be called out like this. That said, Mac never pulled her punches. It was one of the reasons they got along so well.