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Maggie looks at her, confused. “What’s the difference what they think?”
“I’m afraid they’ll convince me.”
Maggie holds up the bottle, pours Georgia a quarter of a shot into the shot glass—not even really a quarter, more like a teaspoon. And she holds it up, like an answer. Then she hands it over.
Georgia downs it. “Man, I knew you would make me feel better,” she says, and wipes her mouth. “You have that look about you, that old-soul look. That my-heart-is-too-big-for-my-own-good quality that I like in people.”
“Wow,” Maggie says. “I can only imagine what would have happened if I made that a full shot.”
Maggie smiles, for what feels like the first time all day. This is going to be okay, she thinks, all of it. She’ll go home and sleep off some of the absinthe. She’ll get ready for the party tonight. And this time tomorrow, they will be on their way back to Red Hook.
Then Georgia starts to speak again.
“I just had a feeling as soon as I saw you get off the bus. I had a positive feeling, which is a relief. And I was worried about it. I had all these conversations set up to have in case it got awkward. Like, Nate told me you loved music. We could talk about that. Because the first time Nate was married, it didn’t work like that. All the prepped conversations in the world wouldn’t have helped. I tried to be nice, I wanted that, but she made it so hard. She made it really hard.”
For a second, Maggie is certain she misheard her. Until she is certain she hasn’t.
“Ryan never even tried with me. She wasn’t the type. She’s the other type. You know, the girl you hate because you kind of want to be her? Cold, but occasionally sweet in the way that keeps men running back because they are thinking she’ll be sweet again. One day. If they figure out the special way she needs them to do everything just right.”
Maggie’s head is spinning. It may spin right off of her body. She holds on to the side of the rock, literally holds it, trying to concentrate on her breathing, not turning toward Georgia.
“Ryan?” she says, finally.
“Right, Ryan.”
“Ryan?”
“Weird name for a girl, isn’t it? And she lives up to it, believe me,” Georgia says, and shakes her head, in imagined shared contempt, and then—as though she is seeing for the first time that Maggie has no idea what she is talking about—she shakes her head slower, until she is barely moving it at all. “Wait, why exactly are you looking at me like that?”
Maggie doesn’t answer.
“He didn’t tell you he was married . . . I can’t believe this. He didn’t tell you about Ryan?”
“You really need to stop saying her name,” Maggie says.
“How could he not have told you?” She holds her head in her hands. “This is bad. This is very bad. He’s going to kill me. . . .”
Maggie isn’t listening anymore. She is already standing up, starting to move back to the car. But she slips on the rock, slips and scratches the side of her ankle, and barely catches it. The bottle of absinthe. But she does catch it, and keeps going.
“Hold on!” Georgia is jumping off the rocks, following her. “Where are you going?”
He was married. Nate was married. To a woman Maggie has never even heard of. Never even knew until this very moment. There is no rationalizing this away. There is no excusing why he hasn’t told her this.
“I don’t know.” She is walking in the opposite direction from the car. She is just walking.
“You need to slow down, Maggie. You need to slow down so that I can explain a little better.”
She can’t slow down. There are tears welling in her eyes. She can feel them. And her ankle is stinging. Now that she is standing there is no ignoring this either. The absinthe is making her head foggy, and clearer, and foggy in a whole new way. She isn’t sure if she knows less than she would know otherwise, or more. It makes her think it is probably less. It makes her think she is about to make a less than great decision.
“Was Nate married?” Maggie asks.
“Yes.”
“So what is there to explain?”
And this time she does start walking to the car, the keys already out, already ready to go.
“Please, wait.” They are by the car again, Maggie pulling helplessly on the locked doors. Then she starts to unlock the driver’s side, barely fitting the key in the lock. When she feels Georgia sneak up behind her, a quick motion, and grab the keys away.
