Jaime and I worked together at Shine PR, the marketing and public relations company we’d started together last year. Her degrees in psychology and marketing and her experience in advertising paired well with my experience in PR and social connections, and our little startup was a big success so far. We’d already hired an assistant to manage social media for several clients and planned to hire another by next year. “Because we were busy this morning, and you were with clients all afternoon. I figured I’d tell you both here tonight.”
“Well, I’m glad you waited,” Claire said from the other side of Jaime. It was our weekly Wednesday Girls Night Out, and we were at the Buhl Bar, a little earlier than usual since I had to attend a fundraiser for my father later on. “Now that you guys work together and see each other every day,” Claire went on, “I fear I’m missing half the life gossip. So he actually proposed?”
I nodded. “On bended knee, with an exquisite diamond ring.”
“What a surprise!” squealed Claire.
“What a dipshit,” said Jaime. “I hope you told him to stick that ring where the sun don’t shine.”
I sipped my gin martini and replied with careful consideration. “I did nothing of the sort. I was kind and understanding, and I let him down easy.”
“Why?” Jaime continued to gape at me with wide blue eyes. “He was such an asshole in the end.”
“Because I have manners. Yes, he was an asshole,” I admitted, “but he copped to it. Said he was sorry and basically begged to have me back. He said a lot of nice things, actually.”
Jaime’s stare made me uncomfortable, and I focused on my drink. She knew me too well. That’s the problem when you’ve been best friends with someone since the ninth grade—even for someone like me, usually an expert at concealing how I feel, that friend sees through you.
“Well, it’s nice that he finally realized what he had,” offered Claire, eternal optimist. “Even if it is a little too late.”
“Is it too late?” I braved, giving voice to the question that had been on my mind all day.
It was silent as they both registered what I’d said. “What do you mean?” Jaime’s tone said I know what you mean but you can’t actually mean that.
“I mean, do you think it’s too late for us?”
“Fuck yes, I do.” She banged a fist on the bar, and the surface of my drink rippled.
“Well, hold on. Maybe not,” Claire said wistfully. “I love a good second chance romance.”
“This isn’t a movie,” Jaime insisted, turning to Claire. “This is real life, and he was a real dick to her.”
“But people can change,” Claire countered. “Look at you and Quinn. You swore you’d never have a boyfriend, least of all him, but you gave Quinn a chance.”
“That’s different,” Jaime said testily. “Plus Quinn is insanely good in bed. Tripp was a disaster, wasn’t he Margot?”
I winced. “I don’t know if I’d say disaster. The sex was just a bit…uninspired. Maybe that’s not the most important thing, though. Maybe there are more important elements in a relationship than good sex.”
Jaime looked at me incredulously. Blinked. “Like what?”
“Like common interests,” I said, sitting up a little taller. “And family ties. And a shared history. Shared values.”
Jaime rolled her eyes. “So your families both sailed here on the Mayflower or whatever. Big fucking deal. If you didn’t want to tear his clothes off when he walked into your house last night, you don’t have any chemistry.”
I thought about that for a minute. Then I started to laugh at the idea of tearing off those whale shorts and the pink shirt. “We’re just not like that,” I said. “We’ve never been like that. We’re both more…reserved. Conservative, maybe. Would I like better sex? Sure.” I shrugged. “But I’m almost thirty. And maybe I need to worry less about that kind of thing.”
“Thirty isn’t old,” Jaime scoffed. “And I don’t want to see you go backward, Margot. A year ago you were so unhappy. You’ve made so much progress.”
“I agree,” I said. “But underneath it all, I’m still the same person. I still want the things I wanted then. I’m traditional, OK? I want a traditional life, the life I grew up with. Husband, house, family.”
“And that’s OK,” Claire soothed, reaching over Jaime’s lap to pat my hand. “We’re not judging you for wanting those things.”
“And Tripp gets me,” I said, annoyed because it was true. “The ring he picked out was perfect. He knows my style, my taste. He’s got a good education, a good job, a good family. Those things matter to me more than sex.”
Jaime refused to give up. “But what about passion? What about that mind-blowing physical connection? Don’t you want those butterflies in your stomach when he walks in the room? That racing pulse when he gets close?”
“But what if I’m not cut out for that?” I asked, voicing a fear that usually lurked silently in the back of my mind. “What if I’m just not that passionate a person? What if I’m not the type to blow anyone’s mind? Does that mean I have to be alone?”
“No,” Claire said firmly, shooting Jaime a look. “And if you want to give Tripp another chance, that is completely your choice. We stand by you no matter what.”