Meg shrugs. Her long red hair bounces on her shoulders. “Quinn spiked a fever as I was getting ready, so we spent half the night at the urgent care on the north end of the island.” She flips up her hands. “Ear infection. Change of plans.” She laughs. “Story of my life.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Grace’s thoughts drift to Jenny, who often needs to cancel and reschedule plans due to these types of hiccups. “How’s he feeling?”
“He’s fine. Nothing a whole mess of antibiotics and Popsicles can’t fix.” She stops to smooth the front of her casual, creamy sundress. “Needless to say, my parents bumped back their offer to watch him and Emma to tonight.” A look washes over Meg’s face, turning some of her brightness into concern. “Oh, gosh. You didn’t have a change of heart and come here to meet me last night, did you?” She slaps a palm to her face. When she does, Grace catches a glimpse of Meg’s wedding jewelry—a tasteful, sparkling stack—on her finger. “I’m really sorry. I was so wrapped up with Quinn that I honestly didn’t even think of that until right now.”
No,Grace thinks.I was too busy spiraling after I face-planted into your brother’s chest.
“Oh, hello.” Grace’s waitress reapproaches the table. She looks at Meg, then Grace, then the empty seat. “Will you be dining with us this evening?”
“O-oh. Oh, no. I ...” Meg glances over her shoulder, as if searching for someone who isn’t there. “I was just making my way back to my own table.” She points at an empty two-top. “I have my own reservation.” Meg holds up a single finger. “Another party of one.”
The waitress’s shoulders slump.
“D-do you want to sit with me?” Grace asks before she can second-guess her choice.
“Perfect!” The waitress claps, sealing the decision before Meg even responds. “I’ll go get an extra utensil roll-up and a plate.” A crooked grin breaks across her face as she waves down the hostess. “Be back in a jiff.”
The conversation goes down easily, as does the wine, which Meg insisted on ordering. By the time their waitress—noticeably pleased by the turn of events—clears their dinner plates, full of sucked-dry oyster shells and picked-through crab legs, the two of them have collectively put down a bottle and a half of sauvignon blanc.
It’s been so long since Grace has allowed herself to let go in this way. To fill a glass of alcohol with more than two fingers’ worth, to enjoy something as innocent as seafood without the fear that some pregnancy-ending bacteria might be lurking. They were terrible, all those months and years of worry, the constant pressure of telling herself she could control something that was entirely out of her grasp. (Just steer clear of deli meat and runny eggs ... and no vigorous exercise ... or parabens ... or unpasteurized anything ... or heavy lifting.) Even after it was clear that Adam and her efforts to conceive were over—long before their marriage was over, too—she held on to most of those habits for ages (caffeine a newly reintroduced luxury, albeit necessity). Over time, they’d become not only practices but parts of her—parts she was still learning to let go.
Now Grace tips back her head and enjoys another crisp sip. Maybe it’s the setting. Or the company. Or that certain chunks of this day still don’t make an ounce of sense. Whatever the reason, she doesn’t want to think of that part of her past tonight. For the moment, she just wants to be here, reliving happier times with her old friend, in the present.
“I seriously cannot believe you remember that, Meg.” Grace’s voice cracks with laughter. “We were, like, ten when that happened.”
“Some memories fade with time.” Meg swirls her glass by its stem. “However, seeing your friend bury her dead hermit crab and then watching three days later when that same crab crawled back out of the ground and walked right up to the porch steps of her summer rental isnotthe sort of recollection one ever forgets.”
“A toast.” Grace lifts her glass in mock-nostalgia. “To Mr. Crabby. He was a good pet.” She finishes off the last sip of her wine. “Even if I only knew him less than a week.”
For the first time since Meg joined her, there’s a brief lull in their chatter. It feels like a ball dropping. Her thoughts a touch fuzzy, Grace mentally searches her mind for something to fill it with before it hits the ground.
“It’s been a long time since those days,” Meg says, beating Grace to the punch. “Though in some ways, it feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”
Their waitress reappears, offers them each a dessert menu. Neither woman pauses to look.
“Meg,” Grace begins, her mind clearing. Sharpening. That last night they saw each other out on the beach the week of Grace’s twenty-fifth birthday. The bonfire. A sky full of stars. Grace shouting things she wishes she could forget. “I’m sorry, I—”
“We were basically kids, Grace.” Meg instantly cuts her off. “That was ages ago.” She leans across the table to better emphasize her point. “Water under the bridge.” She swats a hand. “We weren’t even the same people then.”
“So what’d we decide?” Their waitress comes back at exactly the right and wrong moment. “Are we in the mood for something sweet?”
“None for me,” Meg says. “It’s getting late. I should get back soon and check on the kids.”
Their waitress nods and scoops up the dessert menus, promising to return with their check.
“We spent the whole night reminiscing,” Grace points out, sinking back in her chair. Her entire body—not only her stomach—feels full in a way it hasn’t in a long time. “I haven’t even gotten to hear much about your life.”
Meg leans back, too, sucks in a big inhale. “Well, you already know about the best parts. My little ones. Not that they’re all that little anymore. They turned eight this year—twins, obviously, though you probably guessed that from their faces.” She drums her fingers across the tablecloth. “Let’s see. We live a little ways outside Philly—not far from where I grew up before we all moved south. My parents still live down there, though they’ve been back and forth a lot this year to visitwith us in Pennsylvania.” She softly bites her bottom lip. “Hmm. What else? I work in marketing, which is admittedly a bit boring, so nothing to write home about there.”
“And you’re married.” Grace points to Meg’s left hand, her rings glimmering beneath the restaurant’s dimmed lights.
“Oh. Of course.” Meg’s face pinkens, like a schoolgirl admitting she’s in love for the first time. “And I’m married.” She closes her eyes, though her expression is warm. “Ben,” she says when she reopens them. “We met in our late twenties. A not-so-original story, really. We were both in New Orleans for bachelor and bachelorette parties.” Her face breaks into a hushed laugh. “We were in a bar, naturally. I was wearing some ... oh, gosh ... let’s just say they were less-than-tasteful bachelorette accessories.” Her sight drifts to the window, her gaze falling on the crashing waves out in the distance. “It sounds so corny, but it really was love at first sight.” Meg smiles softly, lost in a memory she doesn’t share. “But enough with my blabbering. How are you? How’s your mom? She’s down here with you this week, I assume?”
The question lands like a slap.
“S-she, um ...” Any sort of good time Grace was having instantly disappears without so much as an apology. Her face grows hot while her mouth turns dry. “B-Birdie, well ...”
“Oh, God,” Meg interjects and reaches across the table to squeeze Grace’s hand. “Don’t even say it.”
