Page 68 of We Used To Be Magic

‘What about my engagement party? No one was working then.’

‘Come on.’ I laugh. ‘You clearly didn’t want me there in the first place.’

‘Ezra, you can’t blame me for being surprised that you came when you didn’tRSVP!’

‘Well, I’m sorry that my social etiquette isn’t up to your standards,’ I retort. ‘I guess boarding schools just aren’t what they used to be.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Maggie says, voice taut – she’s genuinely upset, I realise, and my anger immediately caves in on itself to make way for shame.

‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s not. I didn’t – I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘No, I’m being a prick. And that gallery thing sounds like fun. Is Tomas going?’

‘He is,’ she says after a pause. ‘You could bring someone too, if you wanted.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Maybe I will.’

I haven’t seen Audrey since she left my apartment yesterday – she stuck around for breakfast this time. I made eggs. She made coffee. We ate and drank and smiled and tried to pretendthat there wasn’t a huge, unspokensomethinghanging over our heads.

Maybe whatever’s weighing on her will resolve itself. Maybe it’s nothing, like she keeps insisting – maybe I’m just projecting my own bullshit on to her, creating this weird little fantasy where she needs saving and I get to be her white knight. Me being pathetic is an infinitely better scenario than something being actively, seriously wrong. It’s also way more likely.

In any case, I’ve figured that the best course of action is to just be … around. Available, should she need me. And it works in my favour, seeing as she’s currently my favourite person to spend time with.

‘Okay.’ Maggie nods, looking slightly taken aback. ‘I’ll make sure you have a plus one.’

‘Thanks.’ I smile. She returns it, taking another sip of her drink – her engagement ring sparkles in the light as she raises her hand, the stone so massive that it probably has its own gravitational pull. Maggie’s normally all about the understatement, so her walking around with the gemmological equivalent of a foghorn on her finger didn’t make sense to me until I found out that it was a family heirloom, bestowed on her by Tomas’s mother. Whenever I catch her looking at it, it’s with this soft, dreamy smile that’s usually only reserved for him. And that’s love, I guess – a force so powerful that it can undermine even Maggie’s unshakable aesthetic principles.

‘How’s the wedding planning going?’ I ask impulsively. Maggie cocks her head in surprise, probably at my apparent willingness to discuss colour schemes and string quartets.

‘It’s going very well,’ she says after a pause. ‘How would you feel about being a groomsman?’

‘Oh, wow. Is this an official offer?’

‘Well – “offer” implies that you have a choice.’

‘Then I’d be honoured,’ I reply smoothly, and Maggie laughs. I grin, suddenly struck by how rare a sound it is. It always has been, even when we were kids. Maybe that’s why it feels so good to be responsible for it.

AUDREY

‘WHEN YOUSAID GALLERYOPENING,I WASPICTURING STARKwhite walls and wine in plastic cups.’

‘Right. Artists milling around, looking you with big, sad eyes.’

‘Exactly.’ I laugh. ‘But this …’ I trail off, lost for words.

Ezra and I are currently amidst a maze of gleaming glass and polished concrete, a cavernous space teeming with chic-looking people all ignoring the art in favour of each other. We managed to find ourselves a relatively subdued corner to sip the champagne that was foisted on us upon arrival, but it’s loud and echoey in here, meaning that we’re standing closer than we normally would. Ezra’s arm is casually braced against the wall behind me, and the idea that a passing stranger might look at us and see a couple refuses to leave my head.

‘Maggie definitely undersold it.’ He grimaces, oblivious to my yearning. ‘And I’mdefinitelyunderdressed.’

‘You look great.’ I say without thinking. He’s wearing a button-up shirt and a corduroy blazer tonight, and looks like an off-duty academic. I like it a little too much.

‘Youlook great,’ he says firmly. ‘I look like I snuck in for the free food.’

‘That’s professional make-up artistry for you,’ I reply, flustered. I came here from a photoshoot and my hair has been teased and fluffed into a bouncy mass of soft curls, my eyelids drooping under false lashes. I’m hoping that the overall effect makes my plain black dress look chic and understated instead of shabby and incongruous.

Today’s been surreal from beginning to end. Imogene called early this morning to tell me to drop whatever I was doing and get myself to the Downtown offices of one of the world’s biggest fashion magazines, seeing as they’d justhappenedto have booked me for an editorial that same day. I flipped out, of course, thanking her profusely before throwing myself out of the door and into a taxi. It wasn’t until I was almost there that I realised that the editorial in question was probably the one that Julian’s friend Sasha had thought I’d ‘be perfect for’ … I didn’t know how to feel, then. But miraculously, the photoshoot itself was so incredible that I almost managed to put Julian to the back of my mind altogether.

---