"You lookso good." She says. "Seriously. You should wear dresses more often."
"Thanks," I deadpan.
Behind her, a few steps back, is Grant, hands in his pockets.
He gives a nod so small it could be a muscle spasm. "Hey, Beth."
"Hey, Grant."
And that's it. That's the full conversation with the man I was supposed to marry not even a year back.
Luna's hand finds my knee under the table. She squeezes once. Hard. I'm choosing to read it asI'm hereorSay the word and I'll push her into the grape-stomping pit.
"So what are we celebrating?" Jessica pulls over a chair from the neighboring table.
"Harper's bachelorette," Maren says, not looking up from her scoresheet.
"Shut up!" Jessica grabs Harper's arm. "Here. Today. What a coincidence!"
Harper makes a noise that I think is supposed to communicate joy but mostly sounds like a small animal being stepped on.
"We should do a double date when you're back in Lakeview," Jessica says. "The four of us. Ben's so fun."
To anyone who doesn't know her, Harper's face probably looks polite. To me it says:Over my dead and reanimated body."We're pretty booked up with wedding stuff, but I'll check."
"So are you two staying at the vineyard resort?" I hear myself ask.
"Yeah for the weekend. We just got here last night," Jessica says. "Grant surprised me." She looks back at him, a hand on his chest. "He's beensoromantic lately."
"That's great," I say. "Good for you."
Luna's grip on my knee tightens. At this rate, she's going to leave a bruise.
"We shouldtotallydo a tasting together," Jessica says, scanning our scoresheet and question cards. "Oh, is this a game? Can we join?"
***
"There's abidet," Becca yells from inside one of the bathroom cabin.
"I like this place," Luna says, tossing her bag onto her bed.
We're at the glamping site for the afternoon and overnight. Our program includes a guided mud bath, aromatherapy, a private chef dinner, and a s'mores night around a campfire.
I'm sharing a tent with Luna, which means I get about forty-five seconds of quiet before she says, "You good?"
"I'm great," I say, picking up the robe and slippers that are waiting on my pillow.
"Okay then."
"I'mgreat," I say again, like repetition is evidence.
Luna unzips her toiletry bag and doesn't push it.
I put on the robe and the slippers and follow Luna out to the mud bath pavilion, which is an open-air tent with a wooden deck and ten individual copper basins filled with warm therapeuticmud, surrounded by ferns and those little electric candles that flicker but never drip. A woman in all white, whose name tag says Sage, greets us with a tray of cucumber water.
"Welcome to your restorative earth ritual," she says.
"Thank you," I say, taking a cucumber water.
