“I don’t know. I did until last night.”
“What was it like at the party? Was he still pissed? Did he seem different?”
“We were both bitter—with good reason, I guess.”
“Do you think—” she hesitates before going on “—do you think you would have forgiven him back then if it turned out he made up the Madison stuff?”
“I’m not sure. With everything that happened, it just felt like we were too far gone. And after my dad, I didn’t think I deserved love anymore.”
“Does that mean you think you deserve it now? Because you do.”
I don’t answer, partly because I don’t want to and partly because I can’t. Thankfully, Maggie accepts my silence.
“Man,” she says a few seconds later, “full disclosure, after hearing all that, there’s no way I’m not getting my own s’more in a jar. Let’s do this thing.”
I let out a chuckle as the tension breaks, breathing easier as we finally enter the restaurant. We’re early enough to be seated right away without a reservation and we follow the friendly hostess to a table near the retractable window wall in front. The ambiance is warm and bright with pristine white tiles and reclaimed wood accents.
We settle into our seats and accept our menus, but I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going with scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast and, apparently, my very own s’more.
Maggie seems as prepared as I am as she sets her menu in her lap. “So, where do you two go from here? What were you talking about before when you mentioned last night?”
A warning bell rings out in my head, wordlessly shaming me as I remember the kiss that didn’t happen.
“It was dumb. Ryan and I had a moment and we almost kissed, but thankfully we didn’t.”
“Excuse me?” Maggie asks. “Why wasn’t that the first thing that came out of your mouth?”
“Because it doesn’t matter. Nothing happened and I’m glad it didn’t because Ryan and I are over.”
Maggie gives me an unsatisfied huff as she sits back in her seat. “I reject that statement. The way you just told me that story, which, by the way, makes me want to go home and sing “Drivers License” in full voice while wrapped in a blanket, one hundred percent proves how not over you and Ryan are.”
“Yes, we are,” I insist. “Sam says I should use him to finish my novel. She thinks he’s my muse.”
“And is he?”
Knowing the truth but not wanting to say it, I look away to glance around the restaurant. It’s beginning to fill up now. It seems like no one can resist the siren song of brunch on a sunny Sunday in Manhattan.
I turn back to Maggie with a sluggish breath. “Both times I’ve seen Ryan, I’ve gone on a writing bender. I don’t know why but he just gets something going in me.”
“You mean like your raging teenage hormones?”
“Yes, thank you. That’s very helpful.”
“Well, I’d like to formally cast my vote and say that I’m with Sam. If Ryan is your inspiration, then you need to go with it. It’s about time you mixed a little business with pleasure.”
A nervous kind of nausea sweeps through my abdomen at Maggie’s suggestion. I snatch the folded napkin in front of me from off the table and drape it across my lap. “Okay, I’m done talking about me. What’s going on with you? How’s Grandma Noreen?”
Maggie smiles, as she does when I mention her grandmother. “She’s amazing. I just saw her yesterday.”
Grandma Noreen is Maggie’s mother in everything but name. The matriarch of the family through and through, Grandma Noreen raised Maggie and her younger sister, Hannah, since they were kids. Maggie goes up to visit her in her small town in Connecticut every week and talks to her on the phone twice a day without fail. Noreen just turned ninety-three but looks decades younger. Maggie swears it’s because she uses a ton of moisturizers and sleeps under a heated electric blanket year-round.
“Hannah seems to be settling in, so that’s good, and it’s a relief to know that Grandma is getting consistent social interaction. It helps keep her sharp.”
I was selfishly so relieved when Maggie’s sister moved in with Grandma Noreen last month. After a bad fall last year, I could tell that her living alone was weighing on Maggie, so much so that I half expected her to move up there herself. Needless to say, Hannah received one of my famous gift baskets upon move-in day.
“I’m starving,” Maggie then says. “I strategically wore these pants so I could binge-eat to my full potential.”
I look under the table to take note of her clothes. “You’re wearing jeans. No one can eat to their full potential in jeans.”
“These are not jeans, they’re jeggings. Fancy jeggings, but jeggings nonetheless. And I am completely ready to put these bad boys to good use.”
“I applaud your commitment.”
Maggie smiles and begins to scan the space for our waitress or waiter when she suddenly sits up at full attention. I follow her eyes and turn my head to see two guys now standing beside our table.
“Hi, Kyle!” Maggie says, her singsong voice as soft as a bell.
“Maggie. It’s good to see you again.” Kyle is tall, dark and very handsome.
I give my friend a speculative glance as she touches her hair, finding it still kept up perfectly. “You, too. We’re just having a quick bite. Kara, this is Kyle.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking his offered hand.
Kyle then pats his friend on the shoulder. “And this is Adam.”
I sit up with a bit more enthusiasm myself as I take in a man with brown hair, friendly brown eyes and one dimple. He isn’t as tall as I’d like, but I can get past that.
Hello, Adam.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Likewise.” He extends his hand and I reach out to grasp it. He has a nice grip, confident and warm.
Kyle leans down to whisper in Maggie’s ear, effectively making Adam and me
