“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?”
Maggie gritted her teeth, counting to five before speaking. “He’s a bit worried about me,” she admitted. “I just want to show him that I have a life.”
“Oh! Then sure,” Deb said as Maggie got out her phone and wiped off the screen, flipping it so the camera was aimed at them.
Patience whooped. “I want in on this!”
Suddenly, the whole group squished in, and Maggie snapped a few shots. Her smile, she noticed, looked awkward, but it was better than nothing. Once she had the photo and everyone was chatting happily, she got ready to flee. “I should . . .”
“Lemon bars!” Deb trilled. “Made them myself. C’mon, have one!”
Damn it! So close!
Maggie sat down with the small paper plate and the dessert. She sat next to Klara, whose relative silence made her feel less awkward.
Of course, this was when Klara decided to start talking.
“So, Maggie,” Klara said, leaning in, “what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an editor,” Maggie said. “Mostly nonfiction. I work on business books and textbooks, things like that. You?”
“I work as a receptionist at the hospital,” Klara answered.
They sat in silence for a moment as the others continued to chatter.
Then Klara picked up the conversational ball again. “What do you do for fun? If your son’s worried about you not having friends.”
“Oh, you know, the usual. I, ah, read, though not as much as I used to. Watch stuff.” She paused, then decided what the hell and said, “I play video games, when I can.”
“Do you and your son play?” Klara asked.
“When he was home, sometimes,” Maggie said. “We could probably play online, but I don’t want to embarrass him. The last thing he needs is his mother hanging around, you know?”
Klara frowned for a second, then nodded. “One of the ladies at church has a son . . . he’s in community college, I think. And I think he has some kind of online game group—guild—with a bunch of other students? His mother said it sounded satanic, though. Blood something?”
“Bloodborne? BloodRayne?” Maggie asked. “Blood Saga?”
“That’s the one, I think,” Klara said. “Maybe you could join that?”