Izzy groaned. “Can we not do this sober?”
“You’re on your second beer,” Kiera pointed out.
“Exactly.”
Gwen shrugged, feeling instantly awkward. Maggie had mentioned the trip, but Gwen knew Maggie had been keeping their separation quiet from the group while Pete and Danica were wedding planning.
“I’m sure you’ll all find increasingly hilarious ways to torture Pete and Danica,” Gwen said with a forced smile. She just had to make it through one beer and then she could leave. She wondered how long was a polite amount of time before she could ask the group for a selfie to send to Melinda.
Izzy tilted her head. “Why do you say that like you’re not coming?”
Gwen blinked. She opened her mouth, then closed it, not sure what to say.
“We explicitly told Maggie you were coming this time,” Kiera said, her tone sliding into her authoritative teacher voice.
Gwen’s pulse lurched, adrenaline spiking like she’d missed a step on a staircase. She kept her face carefully blank, but her fingers curled around the edge of the bench. Heat bloomed behind her ears, spreading down her neck in a slow flush. She stared at the condensation on Izzy’s glass, weighing her options. Lie? Deflect? Laugh it off? The silence stretched a beat too long. The hum of the patio and the clink of glasses grew unbearably loud.
“I’m so sorry, not this time. Someone’s got to wrangle the Terror Trio at home,” she finally said, shrugging.
Izzy’s eyebrows knit as she studied Gwen’s face.
“Maggie mentioned your mom was watching the kids?” Kiera asked. “Do you want me to call her?”
Gwen’s panic flickered visibly before Kiera smiled sweetly.
“I’m kidding,” Kiera said. “Mostly. But really, I will call her.”
“Who are we calling?” Danica asked, sitting back down beside Kiera. Pete took the seat next to Gwen, passing her a very normal-looking beer.
“Gwen can’t come to the bach party,” Kiera said.
Four sets of eyes locked on Gwen. Especially Izzy’s — sharp, unblinking. Gwen had always avoided being on the receiving end of that stare. Now she felt sweat prickle at her hairline. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “Kids, you know?”
Izzy gasped. “No, no. Youhaveto come. You’re half the reason we even believe in love.”
Danica added, “Seriously, we’ll figure out childcare. Or bring them, I don’t care. I’ll make a spreadsheet. Please say yes.”
Pete leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Gwen. Come on. You’re the most stable person we know. This party needs grounding energy.”
Gwen hesitated, heart thudding. They didn’t know. About the separation. About Maggie.
And Maggie didn’t know she was at this happy hour.
Pete cleared her throat. “I think we’d better get the boss on the case,” she said, already pulling out her phone.
Gwen panicked. “Wait, who is?—”
An old picture of a silly, nineteen-year-old Maggie popped up on the screen, eyeliner smudged and wrapped in a blanket scarf. It must have been a college photo. Gwen’s chest squeezed at the image, at the memory of what Maggie had been like at twenty-three, when they’d met in grad school. So vibrant, like the sun glowed directly out of her skin.
When Maggie answered the video call, her expression was distracted, like she’d picked up without checking who was calling. Her eyes flicked over the screen and landed on Gwen — then widened slightly.
She looked completely different. Pale, drained, tired. Still stunning, justdifferentnow. Her lips parted in surprise. Gwen wasn’t supposed to be here. Not like this.
“Maggie,” Pete crowed. “Guess who just agreed to come to Vegas?”
Maggie blinked. “I — what?”
“I did not say that,” Gwen said, holding up her hands like she was under siege.
