“I owe you an apology. But I’m a bit drunk right now, so I don’t know how good it’s going to be.”
“I’m a bit drunk right now, too,” Blair said.
They stared at each other for a long moment until Blair, struck anew by the absurdity of the situation, started laughing again. Mrs. Afonso cracked up, too. “I am so very sorry. Even if you were Britt Moone, the person I should be mad at is my husband. He was a dipshit. A legendary director, but also a dipshit.”
“I know how that goes. I’m here because I’m recently divorced from my own dipshit.”
“I threw that beautiful peach pie away!” Mrs. Afonso suddenly wailed.
“I’ll make you another one.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Afonso clapped a hand over her mouth. “And I poured bleach on your plants over here, but I spilled some bleach on my hand and burned myself. Then I realized that Sophia here used to be the star pitcher for the MGM corporate softball league back in the day, so I switched tactics and started trying to ruin your pool.”
Blair knew she should be mad, but she found the whole thing funny. She could even respect the level of commitment to a grudge Mrs. Afonso had sustained.
“Did it work?” Mrs. Afonso asked with a chipper tone that further amused Blair. “The pool plot, I mean.”
“It sure did. The pool guy has already drained it once, and I suspect he may have to do it again.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Afonso said. “I’ll pay for everything.”
“It’s OK,” Blair said. “I’m just glad your crime spree didn’t cause you serious injury—I’m assuming your hand is recovered?”
“It is, and that’s a very generous outlook. Please tell me what I can do to make things up to you.”
Before she could think better of it, Blair said, “You want to come over and hang out sometime? We can talk about our dipshit husbands.” She smiled. “Or not. We can talk about literally anything else.”
“I would love to.”
They said their good nights, promising to speak more tomorrow in the—sober—light of day. She would probably regret having invited Mrs. Afonso to hang out. But she had been doing well lately. No episodes since Thanksgiving. She had hope: for the upcoming party but also in general.
“You were way too forgiving,” said Jack, looking up at Blair, who was still on the ladder. She had stayed up there, watching to make sure Mrs. Afonso got down all right on her side and that she and her friends made it inside safely.
“Well, what was I going to do? Call the cops and have them take an old lady away? It’s just a pool and a few plants.”
“What if my crows tried to eat her poison popsicles?”
“That is a fair point, but also,yourcrows?”
“Oh, hush.”
She started down and took the hand he offered when she got closeenough to the ground to reach it. She didn’t drop it, because apparently holding hands was a thing they did now.
“I know they’re notmycrows,” he said with a strange urgency. “This isn’t my house. This isn’t my life.” He paused for a moment, looking down at her so intensely she thought… he might kiss her? No. He was just looking at her. “But it’s been really nice to visit. It’s been… essential.”
Oh my stars. Shewantedhim to kiss her. The fact that he wasn’t wasdisappointing.
It might have been the gin, but it occurred to Blair thatshecould kisshim. It would be so easy. She could go up on her tiptoes and grab his hoodie and tug his head down.
He pulled away. The moment was gone.
“Thanks for playing FBI with me,” he said.
Blair ordered herself to be cool. “I would almost be tempted to say we were in cahoots.”
“Almost?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to inflict an undignified word on you.”
