Page 44 of We Used To Be Magic

It’s only when I crouch to pick up the camisole and cover myself that the shame rises to meet me, engulfing me like a wave.

EZRA

‘BREAD?’

‘Thanks,’ I say, taking a roll from the basket that Tomas is offering. He puts one on his own plate, only for Maggie to nudge him, eyes wide – she doesn’t approve of white bread, along with most other things that taste good. But Tomas just smiles, slapping on a pat of butter and taking a comically huge bite. Maggie’s mouth twitches, like she’s torn between laughing or telling him off, and he leans forward to plant a kiss on her cheek, crumbs around his mouth. I quickly glance away, see Caroline frowning at her menu like it’s written in hieroglyphs.

‘This all looks so good,’ she murmurs. ‘I don’t know what to get.’

‘I’ll pick for you,’ Romy says, leaning over. ‘Get the steak frites.’

‘You always say that.’

‘Because it’s basically impossible to screw up steak frites. You’re guaranteed a good time.’

‘Orbecause you want to order something tiny and fancy then steal my fries.’ She laughs, tweaking Romy’s nose. I avert my gaze again, accidentally meeting Dad’s eye. He’s sitting at the opposite end of the table, looking about as discomfited as I am to be bookending happy couples.

Happy birthday to me, I guess. A family meal in a fancy restaurant isn’t my idea of a good time, but saying yes was the easiest way to mend fences with Caroline after our almost-fight. At least I’ve got a rock-solid excuse to leave within the hour,seeing as Mac has taken it upon himself to throw me a party. He discovered it was my birthday when they passed a card around at work, and trying to talk him out of it seemed like more effort than just letting it happen. The fact that I’m hosting again means I’ll probably resent him bitterly by the time tomorrow rolls around, but I don’t particularly feel like being alone tonight, so – yeah. Fuck it. Party on.

Silver lining, Audrey will be there. I messaged yesterday to invite her and Marika, and though it took her a (worryingly?) long time to reply, she’s coming.

‘So,’ Tomas says, glancing around the table. ‘A toast?’

I like Tomas. I still can’t make sense of his and Maggie’s decision to get married before either of them hit thirty, but he’s a cool guy. Maggie met him at university. He’d lived in Denmark for most of his life before moving to New York on a college scholarship, where they found themselves in the same political science class. Their first seminar, they apparently got into a heated debate about some niche school of thought that swiftly devolved into a full-blown argument. Neither was willing to concede their position by the time the session was over, so Tomas suggested that they continue the debate over coffee – the rest is history. I still remember when Maggie first told us the story, beaming like it was the most romantic thing in the world.

‘Yes, let’s.’ Maggie smiles, raising her flute. ‘Happy birthday, Ezra.’

‘Happy birthday!’ the others chorus. I raise my own glass after Caroline kicks me under the table and we all toast haphazardly. Dad ordered champagne, and I’m reaching for the bottle to top mine up when he clears his throat.

‘This is very special,’ he says, smiling. ‘Having everyone together like this – it really does mean the world to me.’

‘Not everyone,’ Caroline says mildly, and the room slips out of focus, briefly. Suddenly my glass is overfilled, foam spillingdown the sides and on to the tablecloth. No one seems to notice, though, too distracted by the fact that Maggie has visibly paled. Tomas moves to place his hand on hers but she bats him away, gaze fixed on Caroline.

‘Don’t,’ she says quietly, and Caroline raises an eyebrow.

‘Don’t talk about her, you mean?’

‘Not today.’

‘Not today? Or not ever?’

‘Not on Ezra’s birthday,’ Maggie says hotly. ‘Jesus, Caroline.’

‘Why shouldn’t we talk about her? Especially today.’

‘Do you want us to hold hands and sing, too?’

‘Girls, please—’ Dad begins, but neither of them so much as glance his way.

‘You’re beingsoself-centred,’ Maggie hisses. ‘Just because you want to talk about her doesn’t mean that everyone else does.’

‘And you’re being a bitch,’ Caroline retorts. I see Tomas flinch, Romy stiffen – I drain the contents of my glass in one swift motion, reaching for the bottle again.

There’re meant to be five stages of grief, right? It starts with denial, ends with acceptance – anger, depression and bargaining are somewhere in the middle. Thing is, Caroline’s the only one of us to ever reach that final milestone. I don’t know that Dad’s even cleared the first hurdle, and Maggie – Maggie’s been stuck on anger for a long time now.

‘Fine,’ Maggie says curtly. ‘I’ll be the bitch, if that’s what you want.’

‘What Iwantis for you to act like a normal human being. You know, with feelings?’

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