“That’s a lot to put on yourself, Jilly, and it’s not fair,” Ellie said, finally finding her voice. “Do not blame yourself for Marc’s affair.”
“Oh, I don’t. He did that all by himself.” Jill stopped, grounded to the spot. “My point is that somewhere along the way, I’ve lost myself. I’ve changed into someone I don’t recognize. None of this…” She swept her arm in the air for emphasis. “None of this is me.”
“That’s sounds harsh, Jilly,” Ellie pressed. “People change for their partners all the time.”
“Maybe so, but my point is that Marc didn’t change for me. The parties we had were for his friends—mine were never invited. The fancy restaurants we frequented were the ones Marc liked to be seen in. You know I’d rather watch I Love Lucy reruns in my PJs eating from a tube of cookie dough, but I went, without a word of protest.” As her words gained speed, she swiped her hands through the air to emphasize every point. “I used to have a million friends, before Marc. The apartment the five of us shared was heaven to me—loud music, good friends, and cheap beer. I liked that life, but I abandoned it the second Marc told me to. You’re the only friend I have left from that time.”
“I think we may be getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” Ellie said. “You shouldn’t bring your entire life into question over something Marc did.”
“You’ve never liked Marc.” The realization stopped Jill in her tracks. “I should have paid attention to that. Why didn’t I?”
“Jillian—”
“There’s something wrong with me, El. I just know it.” Jill dropped back to the chair next to her friend, physically exhausted and emotionally spent. “Tell me anyway: why didn’t you like Marc?” she asked finally.
“I didn’t like the way he treated you.”
“You never said. How long have you not liked him?”
“Forever.”
“Yeah, well.” Jill leaned her head against the chair and closed her eyes. “I don’t like him anymore either.”
Seven
A sugar hangover can be a powerful thing, and Jill woke recoiling against the sunlight even before she opened her eyes. At some point the night before, Ellie had suggested ordering food, and Jill had pounced on the opportunity to order everything she’d ever denied herself. Three different deliveries from three different restaurants had resulted in a mountain of food: pasta heavy with cream, double-cheese pizza, and gallons of real ice cream. So, when Ellie had found a forgotten stash of ice cream toppings in the catering kitchen, it seemed serendipitous. As they ate, they’d talked about everything and Jill had started feeling a tiny bit better. And when Ellie had pulled out her phone and put together a playlist, piping the songs through Marc’s whole-house sound system, the mood had shifted and Jill had known she’d be okay. Not right away, but eventually.
It was Ellie who’d reminded her that Aunt Sarah had said there were great life lessons in the lyrics of songs from strong women like Linda Ronstadt, Dolly Parton, and Aretha Franklin. Women she called “The Greats.” When Ellie began the playlist, Jill had been transported back to Aunt Sarah’s kitchen on Cape May the summer Bobby Collins broke her heart. Then Jill and Ellie had grabbed soup ladles from the drawer and began to sing, loudly and mostly off-key.
The old songs had been like a balm on her heart, and Jill had felt a pinhole of light shine against what she was afraid would be a very dark future—like there just might be a path forward now, though she wasn’t sure of the terrain or direction. Still, it was something to hold on to.
But that had been last night. This morning felt very different. With her head pounding in the sharp morning light, Jill pushed aside the cashmere throw and rose from her place on the couch. Ellie had stayed most of the night, but she couldn’t stay forever; she had her own life to tend to. Lewis the cat would be waiting for her and she had to work. After Ellie left, Jill had made her way to the couch, curling up because she couldn’t bring herself to return to the bedroom she’d shared with Marc.
Eventually Jill stumbled to the kitchen to brew some much-needed coffee and spied the soup ladles they’d tossed in the sink. The one good thing to come from all of this was that she and Ellie had reconnected friendship bonds that never should have been allowed to splinter. By the time Ellie left, they’d cobbled together a loose plan that felt like progress. Even if she’d wanted to—which she definitely did not—Jill realized the impossibility of living in the Summit house. Financially she couldn’t afford it, and emotionally she couldn’t bear it, so she accepted Ellie’s offer to stay with her. She’d find a job and figure the rest out.
She’d just started the coffee maker when the front doorbell rang, startling her.
It couldn’t be Ellie; she’d left only a few hours before and she wasn’t one to use the front door—or ring the doorbell. Jill couldn’t imagine that any of the women in Marc’s circle would be inclined to drop by. They’d always viewed Jill as an extension of Marc, the plus one on every invitation that required couples. And except for Nadia, they only spoke to her when absolutely necessary.
Jill brushed the fuzz from her yoga pants, straightened her T-shirt, and went to answer the door. The moment she opened it, she regretted doing so.
“Cush.” Reflexively self-conscious about her appearance in front of Marc’s friend, Jill crossed her arms in front of her chest. There were many reasons not to like or trust Cush and she didn’t appreciate him showing up uninvited. “What do you want?”
“Is that any way to greet a friend?” He cocked his head, offering a slick frat-boy smile that may have worked with those who didn’t know him. But Jill did know
