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Yes, but not the kind that I could explain to her. Instead, I said, “No. She’s proving to be annoyingly competent.”

Meemaw snorted. “I’d be more than happy to haze her a little longer.”

“Please don’t.”

“Because it makes your job harder?”

“Because you’re both women. You should be supporting her.”

Meemaw looked stricken. “I’m a feminist.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

“You accused me of not supporting women.”

I looked past the slime. “Let me ask you this—if Penny were a man, would you be hazing her?”

“No, I’d be ignoring her.”

“Fair.”

“Penny gets my attention because she’s a woman.”

“It’s giving ‘you made me hurt you.’”

To her credit, Meemaw didn’t argue. “I see your point. Would you like me to stop tormenting her?”

“I’d like you to stop because it’s the right thing to do, regardless of my opinion.”

“Consider it done.”

“Really?” I didn’t think it would be that easy.

“Really. But for the record, she’s too eager to please. It gets on my nerves.”

“This is her first civilian job. She wants to do it justice.”

Penny was a people pleaser. Whether the Fates were to blame, I wasn’t sure. It must’ve killed her to disappoint them. It hadn’t occurred to me until this moment how much it likely pained her to leave their service due to an injury. To someone like Penny, that was a complete and utter failure.

“She acts like everybody on the island is her new best friend,” Meemaw complained. “In my experience, when you’re loyal to everyone, you’re loyal to no one.”

“It’s generational,” I said.

“She’s a walking, talking social media account.”

“I don’t get it.”

Meemaw huffed. “Social media relationships aren’t real. They only offer the illusion of connectedness.”

“Generational, like I said.”

“Do you think I’d have the same relationship with Joan, Catherine, and Louise if we played card games online? Or if our book club only met and discussed the book in a group chat? There’s a reason we are ride or die.”

“Because you’re all obsessed with serial killers.”

Her face flashed with annoyance. “Are you being deliberately obtuse? You and I have formed a bond, haven’t we? Do you think that would’ve happened if we only systematically like each other’s posts on our teeny tiny phone screens? This—” She gestured between us with her finger— “is important. I look in your eyes; you look in mine. We read each other’s body language. We share more than memes. We’re genuinely friends.”

Guilt surged through my bloodstream. Could our friendship be considered genuine when I shared so little about myself?