On cue, Naomi returned from the door with their delivery: truffle fries, wood-fired pizza, salads. She laid her burdens out in porcelain platters like it was a tasting menu.
They ate at the table, brushing crumbs off themselves.
Isabel picked up a slice, took a small bite. “He used to pick off the onion for me.”
At the end of the meal, once they’d cleared up enough to have some space, Georgie dropped a paper bag onto the table.
“Stationery,” she announced. They all gathered to inspect. “Pens, notepads, and scented gel ink because if we’re going to exorcise demons, we might as well do it in lilac.”
“What exactly are we doing?” Lillian asked.
Georgina grinned. “Writing letters to the men we should never have entertained. Past or present. No names required. Just reasons. Why he’s not good for you. Why it’sgoodyou’re not with him.”
“Mine’s meant to be about Mason?” Isabel asked.
“If it helps,” Naomi said.
“I thought this was a no-drama night,” Bea said, already reaching for a notepad.
“It is,” Georgina said. “This is the pre-drama purge.”
Lillian handed out pens. “What do we do with the letters after?”
“Fold them. Toss them in the shoebox. We could burn them tomorrow, witch-style,” Georgina said. “Figuratively.”
They all began scribbling in silence. The only sounds were the occasional sigh from someone remembering how bad an ex had really been.
Bea shifted slightly in her seat. Clicked her pen once, then stared at the blank page.
She’d never had a boyfriend before Gage. That should’ve made this easy. No heartbreaks. No disasters. Nothing to regret.
Georgie wouldn’t accept it if she wrote nothing.
A name floated up to her mind. Uninvited. Unwelcome.
Not an ex. Not even close. Not anything, really. But he fit the bill forWhy he’s not good for youandWhy it’s good you’re not with him.
Her pen moved.
When she was done, her heart was in her throat. She folded the paper twice and slipped it into the box, which Georgina had labeled on the top in thick black Sharpie:
Operation Exorcism.
They didn’t read them aloud.
Later, curled into blankets and against beanbags, Isabel in the middle, the girls watched explosions, fistfights, and ridiculous one-liners. They’d vetoed anything romantic. Nothing that could cut too close. Naomi laughed so hard at one scene she choked on a marshmallow.
Somewhere around one o’clock, they passed out.
The box of letters sat quietly on the shelf.
The reproof of five women. One still brokenhearted.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Tuesday 7:01 a.m.
The Crown Moves: Gage King to Lead London Division of KGC in January
