Page 35

Maggie is looking down at the menu, and I can’t tell whether she realizes what she said.

Used to be.

There are still pieces of me that exist more clearly in Maggie’s memory than they do in my current life. Because there was a time when my friend knew every single thing about me, before I got into an all-consuming relationship and slowly stopped making room for our friendship.

That’s the strange part about trying to become friends with someone again. We aren’t starting over, because there are too many things between us for that, but we also can’t simply pick up where we stopped. Too much happened in the middle.

“How was work?” I ask.

Maggie makes a face. “Fantastic transition.”

“I thought so,” I say with a smile.

“Work was work. I spent forty-five minutes in a meeting that should have been an email and then another twenty talking about why the meeting should have been an email.”

“That sounds productive.”

The potatoes arrive and, for a while, it gets easier.

This is the part of being with Maggie that I’ve missed. Not the big conversations or the history or even having someone who knows too much about me. Just this. Sitting somewhere after work and talking about nothing important.

She tells me about a woman in her office who has started bringing a different seasonal mug to every meeting. I tell her Luis has become convinced our espresso machine is making a noise that only he can hear. Maggie tells me about her neighbor’s ongoing war with the HOA over a decorative porch goose.

By the time we order another round, I have stopped paying attention to the carefulness between us.

Mostly.

“So what else is new?” Maggie asks.

“Nothing.” I shrug, trying for it to look casual. “I worked all weekend. Packed orders today. My mother is dating again. Or was. I can’t keep up.”

Maggie laughs. “Good for her.”

“Oh god, no, please don’t encourage her.”

“I love your mom.”

“Everyone loves my mom. I think that’s a little bit of the problem?”

“And your brother?”

“Ugh, gross.” I roll my eyes. “He’s in a frat and being all of twenty years old.”

“God, that’s truly terrifying.”

She smiles and takes another sip, and for a few minutes the conversation wanders somewhere else. Maggie tells me about a restaurant that opened near her office that we should try next. I steal another potato from the rapidly cooling pile between us, and behind her, the after-work crowd has started thinning enough that I can see empty spaces opening along the bar.

It feels good. Easier than it did when I first sat down.

“What are you doing for Halloween?” Maggie asks.

I look up from the napkin I’ve been absently folding into smaller and smaller squares. “Halloween?”

“Yes. October thirty-first. Costumes, candy, culturally sanctioned haunting. I thought you were a witch.”

“I’m familiar with the concept, Mags.”

“So?”