Page 47 of You Say It First

Meg blew a breath out. “Not exactly,” she admitted.

“I don’t believe this,” Emily said. “What did you do, you just got in your car and drove to his house? Do you have any idea how stupid that was? You’re lucky you’re not trapped in some terrifying rape dungeon where nobody knows where the hell to find you. You’re lucky you aren’t dead.”

“Can you stop being so apocalyptic?” Meg asked. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” Emily countered. “However it was, you obviously felt like you had to lie about it.”

“I felt like I had to lie about it because you were totally judgmental from the very beginning!”

“It’s not being judgmental to say it’s sketchy to drive across state lines to meet some rando from your telemarketing job!”

They were pulling into Emily’s driveway now, Mrs. Hurd standing in the front yard in a hoodie from the resort in the Poconos Emily’s family went to every summer, pulling damp winter leaves out of the flower beds. She waved at Meg, her hand encased in a dirt-covered gardening glove; Meg smiled at her reflexively, then frowned. “Emily...” she tried again, but Emily was already unclicking her seat belt, scooping her purse up off the floor of the car.

“Forget it,” she said, snatching her iced coffee out of the cup holder. “I can’t talk to you about this right now. I’ll text you later, okay?” She slammed the passenger door before Meg could reply.

Meg knew something was wrong before she even got her key in the door. Bonnie Raitt was turned up so loud on the stereo it was audible even with the windows shut. When she got inside, her mom was sitting at the kitchen island, a mostly empty bottle of sauvignon blanc open beside her. “Hey,” Meg said, picking her mom’s phone up off the counter and using it to turn the music down. “I’m home.”

“I see that,” her mom said without quite making eye contact, pouring the last of the wine into her glass. “How was the mall?”

“It was fine,” Meg said cautiously, gaze flicking around the kitchen in a way she hoped wasn’t too obvious. The garbage was piled over the top of the can in the corner, the edges of the bag pulled up to halfheartedly contain the overflow. There was something sticky—honey, maybe?—glistening on the counter. Meg had been trying to do a better job keeping up with stuff around the house lately, but it felt like there was always something left to do: a mountain of laundry in the bathroom hamper or a bunch of moldy leftovers to throw out in the fridge. She wanted to say something about it to her mom, to suggest they get a cleaning lady or something, but she felt like doing it would start an argument about her dad not paying enough alimony and also puncture some kind of illusion both of them were still holding on to. “How are you?”

Meg’s mom didn’t answer. “I heard from your father today,” she said instead, and all of a sudden Meg knew exactly what the music—and the wine—were about. “He had some news.”

“Oh yeah?” Meg said, hedging. “What about?”

Her mom made a face. “Why don’t you tell me?” she said. “Since apparently you already know all about it.”

Meg dropped her bag on the counter. “Okay, Mom, listen—”

“How long have you been sitting on that?” her mom interrupted. “How long did you know he was engaged and—”

“He wanted to be the one to tell you,” Meg interrupted, aware even as she was saying it that she was lying all over the place lately. “He asked me not to say anything.”

“So your loyalty is to him and what he wants?”

“No, Mom.” Meg shook her head. “It’s not—”

“That’s good to know, since I’m the one feeding and housing and clothing you.”

Meg gaped at her for a moment. “That’s not fair,” she said, a feeling like tears rising dangerously in her throat. It was a lot, all of a sudden, her mom being mad and her dad getting married and her fight with Emily and everything that had happened with Colby; she felt like an overfull glass. “You can’t just stick me between the two of you guys like that. It isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Meg.” Her mom stood up unsteadily, her elegant hands gripping the side of the island for balance. “If I can impart one life lesson to you, as your mother, let that be it.”

“Mom.” Now she really did start crying, one ragged sob that slipped out before she could stop it. It broke the spell, and suddenly her mom was herself again: the same person who’d managed to explain sex in a way that wasn’t embarrassing and knew if Meg had a fever by feeling her cheek with the back of her hand, who always poured potato chips into a bowl and ate the broken shards because she knew Meg liked the big ones best. “God.”

“I’m sorry,” her mom said immediately, scrubbing her free hand over her face. “You’re right, that was shitty. I’m sorry.”

“We can’t keep this up,” Meg said, not sure which one of them she was talking to, exactly. Suddenly, she felt like some low-budget actress performing to a totally empty house.

“Keep what up?” her mom asked, sitting back down again. Meg wondered with some horror if possibly she was too drunk to walk. “Come on, Meg, my girl.”

Meg shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said, grabbing her backpack and heading for the doorway. “I have to go to work.”

By the time she picked up a burrito for dinner and made it to the WeCount offices, she felt like a cartoon character who’d been in a fistfight, like she ought to have a missing tooth and an old-fashioned bandage wrapped around her head. “You good?” Lillian asked, raising her eyebrows over the partition.

“I’m good,” Meg promised.

Lillian nodded, eyes just slightly narrowed. “There are chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen” was all she said.

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