Feels Like Falling - Kristy Woodson Harvey Page 0,30
me for her.” Mary Ellen was a petite, pretty Florida transplant who literally wore only Lilly Pulitzer. She said the clothes fit her body and the prints fit her personality, so who could blame her?
“Of course I hate her,” I said. “And I hate being that woman. I want to be the ‘it was our marriage and he is the one to blame’ woman, but I can’t do it. I hate them almost equally. In fact, I might hate her even more, which is kind of unjustified.”
My I’m fine. It’s fine. Life moves on persona didn’t apply to my best friends. I think that goes without saying.
Megan nearly spit out her wine. “She stole your husband, Gray. What do you mean, unjustified?”
“You can’t ‘steal’ someone’s husband, really. Can you?” countered Addie. Everyone glared at her. She was the one in the group. You know, the one who likes to play devil’s advocate. You love her, but sometimes you just want to say: SHUT. UP.
Marcy picked up a jalape?o popper and, holding it up meaningfully, said, “Love bug, you need some serious sessions. I’m going to refer you to a colleague.”
“I don’t need sessions,” I said, laughing. “Diana and I had a bit of miscommunication about the appetizer situation.” I looked pointedly at Marcy, who looked like an absolute goddess in a flowy maxi dress cut almost to her belly button. She had the exact right willowy figure to pull it off. “I thought you were helping to steer her in the right direction.”
“Ohhhhh,” she said. “I see how you could have thought that. But, no. We were talking about her crazy ex-boyfriends.”
Megan sighed, “Oh, thank God.” An extraordinarily tall brunette, she had shocked us all by debuting her new hairstyle, the wavy curls that used to fall all the way down her back now chopped off close to her head. I honestly had not recognized her, but the look suited her. She added, “Don’t get me wrong. Pigs in a blanket are delicious and it’s great to get to eat them in public. It’s just not really typical of you.” She hiccupped, already on her third glass of wine. “I haven’t had carbs in, like, a decade.”
“I’ve been straight keto for six months now, but that Cheez Whiz and those Ritz crackers…” Addie said. Addie was the least appearance-oriented of us all, and certainly the most athletic. She was toned at any size, but she had complained for years about the weight she had gained when baby number three came two days before her fortieth birthday. She always looked great, and I was about to say so when Marcy asked: “When did we get too good for Cheez Whiz? I mean, really. Are we so fancy now that we can’t enjoy a good microwaved appetizer every now and then?”
“Why do we punish ourselves like this?” Mary Ellen groaned.
I shrugged. “I know nothing is supposed to taste as good as thin feels, but”—I held up a whing-ding—“this tastes damn good.”
My friends laughed, and Megan said, “Well, Gray, I guess even in the midst of the divorce carbs are magic. That’s something, right? So maybe it could always be worse?”
I nodded.
“Yeah,” Mary Ellen chimed in, raising her glass. “He could have left you for a dude.”
I gestured to her and made a face. “Yeah. Is that worse?” I asked. “When your husband leaves you for a man? Or is it worse when he leaves you for a woman?” Mary Ellen was probably the only person in the world who could answer both of those questions from firsthand experience.
Marcy burst out laughing, while saying, “I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t be funny at all.”
Megan joined her laughter, and then, finally, Mary Ellen started laughing too.
Megan said, “How many people can honestly answer that?”
Mary Ellen rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I mean, I know.” Then she raised her glass again. “Here’s hoping third time’s the charm.”
“Hear! Hear!” I said. We all laughed again, and I turned to Marcy. “So, my love, have you told the girls?”
They all leaned in a little, excited for whatever piece of gossip was getting ready to come their way.
“Let’s not make too big a thing of it,” Marcy said. “Who knows if it will even happen?”
“It won’t happen if you don’t put it out there,” Megan responded. She looked less ethereal with her cropped hair, but she still sounded it.
“Fine,” Marcy sighed. “I am officially husband hunting.”
Addie dropped her whing-ding. “Seriously? But you’re our cool single friend.”