“Responsibly,” Callie said.
“Mm.” He left.
We sat in a circle on the rug. Me, Callie, Fletcher, Poppy, Margaux. The vodka was in the middle. Poppy’s lemonade glass was very full because she had refilled it in anticipation.
Margaux smiled. “I’ll start.”
“Never have I ever,” she said, “been on a private yacht.”
I drank a shot.
“Never have I ever,” Margaux said, “been to a black tie gala.”
I drank a shot again.
“Never have I ever had a personal stylist.”
Fletcher and I looked at each other. We both took shots.
We kept going. A skiing trip in Aspen. A private chef. A helicopter ride.
By the end of the round, I was down ten shots. Fletcher was at one. Poppy had also not done most of the things Margaux was shooting at us, and she had taken a few shots of her lemonade as well. Fletcher watched me carefully at each shot I took, and the more I got drunk, the more tense he seemed to be getting.
“Margaux, let’s stop this game.” Fletcher demanded.
“Come on, babe. This is fun. Okay, one last one, and then we stop.”
Margaux looked at the circle, and then buried her eyes on me.
She tilted her head slightly.
“Never have I ever,” she said, “been tucked into bed by my mother.”
The room went quiet.
Poppy, Fletcher and Callie looked too shocked to react.
I looked at the rug. It was a nice rug. A deep blue one with a cream border. I had always liked that rug. I focused on the pattern on it.
“Margaux.” Fletcher shouted. It was his boardroom voice, the one that meant someone had made a colossal mistake they’re going to pay dearly for.
“Enough. Stop it right now. We all know what you’re doing.”
Margaux opened her eyes wide. “What am I doing? We’re playing a game, Fletcher. If people are too sensitive—”
“Stop talking.”
“—that’s not my problem. I didn’t make the rules—”
“Margaux. Stop.” Fletcher shouted again.
She stopped.
Then she looked around the circle slowly. Her eyes moved over Callie, over Poppy, over me, and came back to Fletcher.
“You always have a problem with what I say,” she said. Her voice had changed. The sweetness was gone and something underneath it was showing, something raw and shaky. “Everything I do. Every single thing. Why did you even invite me here?” She looked at all of us. “You all make me feel like— like I’m not wanted here. Like I’m in the way. Like you’d all be much happier if I just—”
She stopped.
