“Didn't mention that, Aiden,” Marty's father says quietly.
“Because it's not a big deal,” Marty snaps.
At the same time his sister speaks up, her phone still in her hand. “So what?”
I definitely owe Maeve a drink.
“I understand if your parents have questions.” I pick up my wine glass. “It was amicable. No cheating, no foul play. We just changed a lot and fell out of love with each other.”
Cynthia nods as if she's absorbing what I'm saying. But when she speaks, I realise she was just planning a different approach.
“And how old were you when you met your husband. Sorry, ex-husband?”
My smile gets harder to hold onto. “We met when I was twenty-four.”
Cynthia nods to herself, then leans forward to pick up her glass again. She takes a long sip, her eyes darting from Marty to me and back again, not realising how much more power she holds when she says absolutely nothing.
“Oh, this is actually getting interesting now,” Maeve says sliding her phone down on the table, screen down. “I wish I had a drink already.”
While I don’t like Maeve’s new dark interest, I am relieved she’s throwing me a cue to stand and leave.
“Yes, drinks! If you'll excuse me, I will go and see to that,” I say. I'm barely three steps away when I hear Cynthia speak.
“She's divorced!? Why on Earth didn't you tell us that, Aiden?”
I roll my eyes. Looks like it's going to be a long night.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Marty
“I'm not going to talk about this with you, Ma,” I say.
“Why does it even matter?” Maeve says. “Marriage is such an outdated, problematic institution. Divorce is basically inevitable.”
“It's not such a big deal,” my father says to my mother, who still looks like she's glitching. “Both my brothers are divorced, Dermot twice, of course, the hopeless eejit that he is with women.”
“I don't really care that she's divorced,” Mum says although the way she says the word - all hard consonants and forced syllables - contradicts that statement. “I care that you didn't tell us.”
“Why would I tell you? You want to know her bra size too?” I shoot back.
“36C,” Maeve says without hesitation.
“Pardon?” I glare at my sister.
“She's a 36C,” Maeve repeats. “Or maybe 38B. Either way. Lovely boobs. And those hips... She's a true hourglass. You're definitely punching above your weight there.”
My father's head is shaking as it hangs in his hands and he tries to swallow his laughter. My mother is still open-mouthed and looking lost.
“Maeve,” I say and intend it as an admonishment, but I start chuckling too.
“Just in the interests of avoiding more shock and awe, is there anything else we should know before this dinner continues?” Dad asks as he straightens up. “Does she have kids? A police record? Is she a member of a religious cult?”
“As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing shocking about Jenna,” I reply but I'm looking at Mum. “Divorce, age, whatever. They are hardly skeletons, but sowhat if she did have one or two in her closet? We all have things in our past that we may not be proud of, but that doesn't mean we are bad people.”
Much to my surprise my mother nods at this. “You're right, Marty, and I'm sorry,” she says in a voice so soft and quiet it's practically a whisper, and that along with her apology is so unexpected it silences me.
I'm still staring at my mother waiting for her to throw in a “but” when Jenna comes back with a tray filled with tall glasses, and under her arm is a stack of menus.
