“What happened? Is everyone OK?”
“Everyone’s fine physically, but Margot and her boyfriend broke up, and she’s a mess.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.” I set the spoon on a paper towel and turned the heat off under the pasta water. If she was going to be late, I didn’t want to cook the noodles yet. “Think you’ll be a while?”
She sighed. “Probably. I totally understand if you want to eat without me.”
“I don’t mind waiting. Want to call me when you’re on your way?”
“OK. I will.”
She didn’t sound like herself, but maybe she was just worried about her friend. “Everything OK with you?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just sad for her. And I’m never sure what to say at these times.”
After we hung up, I occupied myself throwing clothing and linens into boxes for the move. I felt like a selfish asshole even thinking it, but I hoped Margot’s breakup wasn’t going to fuck with Jaime’s head.
We were in a good place right now, but we’d only just gotten
here.
Twenty-Four
JAIME
I’d never seen Margot like this. Not once in the thirteen years I’d known her. She’d always had a boyfriend—we joked that she was a serial monogamist—but her relationships had always ended amicably or she’d been the one to break things off.
This was something else entirely.
Calm, cool, cultured Margot Thurber Lewiston was having a very unbecoming ugly cry on her bedroom floor. Curled in a ball with a (probably heirloom) quilt pulled tightly around her shoulders, she sobbed and howled, her beautiful face contorted in misery and covered with tears and snot.
“Margot, come on. It’s going to be OK.” On her knees at Margot’s side, Claire patted her back. “Want me to get you a hanky?”
“Want a pillow?” I offered from where I sat on Margot’s bed. The expensive sheets were all untucked and twisted as if she’d thrown a violent tantrum on her bed and then rolled right off it onto the hardwood floor. She had a rug beneath her, but still—she couldn’t have been very comfortable.
Not that she cared about comfort. She didn’t answer either one of us, just kept crying and crying, her slender body shuddering pitifully beneath the quilt. She was nearly hoarse from wailing, but nothing we said had consoled her so far.
My own throat was tight—I’d never felt so helpless. Truth be told, I wasn’t good at this. I didn’t know what to say because I’d never been in her position. Even my shittiest breakups in college, before I’d sworn off relationships, hadn’t done this to me. I hadn’t cried like this since—
Quinn.
It suddenly struck me that the way Margot was carrying on reminded me of the way I’d cried the night I’d told Quinn I loved him and he’d laughed at me.
Turning off the warning bell in my head, I got down on the floor with a little square pillow embroidered with the words Like Mother, Like Daughter. I looked at it for a second before putting it down near Margot’s face.
“Here, Gogo. Put your head on this. You’re going to have a terrible headache as it is.”
Nothing. More choked sobs.
“Margot, honey, talk to us.” Claire tried to lean down and make eye contact, but Margot’s puffy eyes were shut tight. We still didn’t know exactly what happened. After getting her text asking us to please come to her house as soon as we could, we’d rushed over and found her like this. She’d nodded yes when we asked if something had happened with Tripp, but we had no other details.
Exchanging a worried glance with Claire, I stroked Margot’s hair. Usually blown out to smooth, shiny perfection, right now it looked and felt like it might contain a couple bird nests. Maybe a squirrel corpse or two.
“OK then, cry it out,” I said, realizing that there was no stopping this train. “We’ll be right here when you’re ready to talk.” I lay down on the floor too, curling up on my side, hands tucked under my cheek.
“Yep.” Claire lay down on the other side of her and patted her shoulder. “We’re not going anywhere.”
A few minutes ticked by, and Margot’s sobs slowed, then quieted. Finally, she took a long, shaky breath. “OK.” She exhaled. “OK. I think I need some whiskey.”