“Most philanderers are pretty obvious,” I said slowly, grasping at a positive spin. “Like this horrible count who marries a young American named Isabel for her money and then tells her, ‘Oh, we have to hang out with my old friend, she should vacation with us,’ and obviously the lady is his mistress, which everyonebutIsabel figured out in seconds, only by then it’s too late because she’s already stuck raising her husband’s love child.”
“See?” Lydia pointed at Arden. “Miles would never do that to you.”
“Or this other guy whose wife came up to him in the garden one night and he started kissing her passionately and she was like, ‘Oh good, maybe he’s going to stop being such a jerk to me.’ Then she said something, and he jumped back like, ‘Helen! What are you doing here?’”
Terry clucked her tongue. “He thought she was someone else.”
“And that’s when she figured out he was cheating?” Arden whispered.
“Pretty soon after that,” I hedged. “She was a little slow.”
“Okay,” Lydia said briskly. “Thoseare warning signs. Miles is not one of those guys. He’s not a drama magnet, and he is definitely not sneaky. You have to be rational about this.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “This is Miles we’re talking about, okay? Not some sleazy cheater. You know who Miles isn’t?” She extended a hand in my direction.
“Alex Ritter,” I said, recognizing my cue. His name left a sour taste on my tongue. This was a rotten way to repay him for his help, but I shoved that thought aside.
“I rest my case,” said Lydia. “If there was a problem you would know, because Miles would tell you instead of running around behind your back. You guys are rock solid.”
Arden flopped backwards, arm crooked over her eyes. “Unless there’s a landslide.”
Lydia stretched out a socked foot to kick her in the shin. “Where is the real Arden and what have you done with her?”
“I’m just saying love is a risk.” Her chin jutted stubbornly. “It makes you vulnerable.”
It would have been easier to argue if she didn’t have centuries of literary tradition on her side.
Grabbing the remote, Lydia switched off the television, which had reverted to a still of the star-crossed lovers wrapped in each other’s arms. “Enough of the gloom and doom. Let’s talk about something else. What’s next on our social calendar?Besidesthe dance.”
“I was thinking music.” Arden dabbed at her nose with the rumpled tissue. “Like an all-ages show, so we can dress up like rocker chicks and get our hands stamped and dance around.”
“Sounds awesome,” Lydia said with uncharacteristic perkiness. “When is it?”
“I don’t know,” Arden admitted with a sigh. “I haven’t even looked up concert listings. I’m sorry, you guys. I’m totally falling down on the job.”
“Nope,” said Lydia, holding up a hand. “No more tears. We’re going to figure this out together. Anybody know a good show coming up?”
“Not really,” Terry said, with a shrug of apology. Lydia sent me a desperate look.
“Um, there’s Improv Opera?”
“Huh.” Lydia scratched her head. “Is that—pretty much what it sounds like?”
“People making up operas on the spot? Yeah.” I looked down, regretting the suggestion more keenly with every breath. An evening of arias about women dying of lovesickness: Good call, Mary! That’ll cheer everyone up.
“I think it sounds very elegant,” said Arden, supportive even in the throes of her own misery.
“I just feel like we need something to get our blood pumping. Leave it all on the dance floor.” Lydia made a growling sound, pretending to claw the air with her hand.
“Oh!” I bolted upright, forgetting my resolve to never make another suggestion.
“What is it?” Lydia clenched her fists in anticipation.
“Trivia Night. It’shardcore,” I assured them. “All the different college departments have a team—”
“College?” Arden interrupted. “As in, collegestudents?”
I nodded. “Also faculty, staff, family, alums. Anyone with a connection to the college. There’s a townie team, too.”
Arden waved this off. “Back to the students.”
