“You’ll be great. You were always good at math.”
“I was all right, I guess.”
Sophie rolls her eyes as she bites into the cheese. “This is delicious,” she says enthusiastically. “You should try it.”
“Maybe later,” I say, biting into a grape. “I’m trying to eat healthier.”
Sophie’s brow furrows. “Cheese isn’t really unhealthy.”
“Maybe not,” I admit. “But it won’t help me shift the ten pounds I’ve gained since the divorce.”
Sophie looks surprised. “I was just thinking you look great.”
“Yeah, well, my ex-husband didn’t agree.” I know I sound bitter, but I can’t help myself. “He cheated on me with a twenty-one-year-old.” I shake my head ruefully. “And that was before the most recent ten pounds.”
“Men are pigs,” Sophie says, indignant on my behalf. I realize how much I missed her.
“That they are,” I agree. “Most of them, anyway. Olivia—that’s his girlfriend’s name—was also my daughter’s figure skating instructor. Such a cliché.”
“I think you should eat some cheese,” Sophie says decisively. “Now that you’re divorced, you don’t need to worry about your ex’s opinion. What’s his name again?”
“Troy.”
She nods. “Well, then. Every time you eat something fattening, you can think, ‘Fuck you, Troy.’”
“That’s been my attitude for the past year,” I admit with a laugh. “Everyone in our neighborhood was super health-conscious, Troy included. Everything had to be organic, free-range, sugar-free, the whole bit.”
Sophie wrinkles her nose. “I could deal with organic, but not sugar-free.”
“Yeah, exactly. So after I learned about Olivia, I took up baking, but with, you know, the classic ingredients. Butter, sugar, flour and chocolate. It drove Troy crazy; the house smelled delicious, but he couldn’t eat any of it without looking like a hypocrite.”
“That’s diabolical,” Sophie says with a laugh. “You were still living together? After you knew about Olivia, I mean?”
“Yeah,” I shrug. “I asked for a divorce as soon as I found out, but I stayed in the house for a year because it was best for the kids. Troy was worried that if he moved out, I’d try to keep the house. I made him sleep in the basement, though.”
“I’d have made him pitch a tent in the backyard,” Sophie says disdainfully.
“Oh, it crossed my mind,” I admit. “But it would have been hard to explain to the kids. We’re trying to maintain the fantasy that we still like and respect each other.”
Sophie snorts. “You’re a saint.”
Not a saint, just a mom. “I had to try to get along with him, since I needed his consent to move the kids to Somerset,” I say with a sigh. “The worst thing I did to him was fill the house with fattening food that he wouldn’t let himself eat. Except now I have a baking addiction and none of my good clothes fit.”
In the end, the joke was on me.
Sophie smiles sympathetically. “Just don’t go crazy dieting. Trust me, you don’t need to.”
I look at her skeptically. “My mom keeps telling me I should do Pilates. She’s hoping to set me up with her best friend’s nephew.”
“Yeah, but that’s just your mother. You shouldn’t take her seriously.” She sighs. “My mother’s starting to nag me about giving her grandchildren. She doesn’t understand why I can’t find a nice doctor at the hospital to marry and make babies with. It’s not as easy as she thinks.”
“It never is,” I agree. “So you’re not seeing anyone right now?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve tried the dating apps, but the options in Somerset are really pathetic. Most men our age are already in relationships, and the ones who are single are usually single for a reason. Either they’re unemployed and living in their parents’ basement, or they’re already divorced. I don’t want to deal with that kind of baggage.”
“I get that.”
Sophie’s eyes widen when she realizes what she’s said. “I mean—obviously your situation’s different.”
