“Ah,” Jennifer says.
“That’s how he talks when he’s mad at me.” She deepens her voice and says, “That’s insufficient, Megan. That’s insufficient.” Another conversation catches Erica’s attention, and Megan lowers her voice so only Jennifer can hear. “He hates to lose control. Hates big displays in anybody—especially himself. When Ben has a tantrum, he practically turns into an English schoolmaster. A Victorian English schoolmaster.”
“His upbringing, maybe,” Jennifer offers.
“Maybe,” Megan says. “His mother’s very sweet, but prone to melancholy, and his father has a temper. So maybe. I sometimes think that he might be more emotional if I were less. You know how that is in a marriage. You have to balance the seesaw.”
Jennifer nods.
“But it’s a good rule,” Megan says. “A good rule.” She turns back to the rest of the table and raises both her voice and her glass. “To our drivers, for making this all possible!”
All the women cry, “To Amanda! To Jennifer!”
It’s a nice feeling, to be cheered. A smile overtakes Jennifer’s face as she looks at all their happy ones. Smiling, smiling.
But then in her head she hears Maybe you should be glad. It’s her own voice speaking, or Margaret’s. And then she thinks, I’ll ruin it.
Megan notices that she’s not talking much, from time to time offering a fact about her to the table or asking a question that’s meant to draw her out. They have a young and handsome waiter who clearly recognizes them and grins with genuine pleasure when he sees them, and as they flirt and banter no one seems to care whether his pleasure is based on their company or their large order and forthcoming generous tip. Why should they care? Why should Jennifer?
When the meal is over, they tell the waiter they might have dessert, but first they have to polish off some more of this wine. “Good luck,” he says, promising to return shortly. “Godspeed.” They fill their glasses again. When Erica holds the bottle over Jennifer’s original glass, still nearly full, Jennifer covers the top with her hand.
Megan is drunk. Megan is so drunk that at times she half-leans on Jennifer, and Jennifer assumes that the rest of the time she’s leaning on Amanda, who sits on her other side. Her features have loosened. There’s a dreamy dullness in her eyes. When the waiter brings the dessert menus, Megan puts hers down with a laugh. “I know all your desserts, but I’m too drunk to remember,” she announces cheerfully. “I’m also too drunk to read.” She smiles up at the waiter. “You tell me what to have.”
“You like chocolate, right?” says the waiter.
Megan shakes her head slowly from side to side, but means this shake as agreement. “Who doesn’t?” she asks.
“Okay,” the waiter says. He gives her a knowing nod. “I’ll bring you something good.”
“I want something amazing,” Megan says.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the waiter says. “It’s the torte. I’m pretty sure I’ve brought it to you before, and I’m pretty sure you loved it.”
“Did I?” Megan says, her eyes lingering on him. He moves around the table, taking more orders, and Megan leans into Jennifer and says, “I love him.” She doesn’t say it particularly softly. He’s right there.
Jennifer shushes her gently, feeling the embarrassment that Megan is spared by the grace of alcohol. “Megan, you cradle robber,” Amanda says as the waiter moves away, and Jennifer laughs along with everyone else. It’s easier if she can just find this funny. “Is that your phone?” she asks, because somewhere in the vicinity something is quacking like a duck.
“Oh!” Megan laughs, swaying, as she rummages in her bag. “Isn’t that funny? That means it’s Sebastian.” She locates the phone and lifts it so she can see the screen. “Quack, quack,” she says, before she presses answer.
Jennifer scoots away as much as she can, trying not to eavesdrop. On her other side Erica and Juliana are engaged in a passionate discussion about a TV show that Jennifer doesn’t watch. She tries to look interested anyway.
Suddenly Megan takes the phone from her ear and thrusts it out into the group. She presses the button that puts Sebastian on speakerphone, and they all hear him saying, “Come home now or the next time you want to go out with the girls you can forget it.” They fall silent, staring at the phone.
“Okay!” Megan shouts, and then she presses end and drops the phone on the table.
Jennifer is astonished—an open display of hostility from Megan! Already she’s apologizing. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she says.
“We won’t tell him,” Terry says. “Don’t worry.”
“No, no, I know,” Megan says. “But he’d hate that I did that.”
“Oh, who cares,” says Amanda, hitting each word hard as a drum.