She said goodbye and we hung up. Flinging an arm over my eyes, I wondered how she knew Jack was sad. Was he moping over coffee this morning? Had he been short with her? Lashed out? The thought made me angry. How dare he take it out on other people! He did this to himself!
Grumpy and depressed, I wandered into the bathroom, and looked at myself in the mirror. Yeesh. My hair was matted and tangled, my face was puffy, and my eyes were red-rimmed with circles underneath. “You know what?” I said to my reflection. “This is the real me, and if people don’t like it, they can fuck off.” I snapped a pony tail holder around my hair, threw on some old jeans with my Vassar T-shirt, tugged on some socks, and shoved my feet into sneakers. I didn’t feel like the old me, so why should I look like her?
The Mercedes was a bit of a problem with my new image, but I’d think about that tomorrow.
“Wow.” Jaime blinked at me. “That’s a different look for you.”
I’d gotten to the bar first and was sitting on one of the velvet sofas along the wall. My friends had just slid in across from me. “I feel different,” I snapped. “Why shouldn’t I look it?”
“No reason,” she said with false brightness and a glance at Claire. “Want to tell us what’s going on?”
“What’s going on is that I’ve come to the conclusion that my life is meaningless.”
“Margot, what on earth?” Claire asked, brows furrowed. “Your life isn’t meaningless. Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s true,” I said, lifting my expensive gin martini to my lips. After struggling with it for a few minutes, I’d decided a life without purpose was no excuse to drink cheap booze. “I don’t contribute to society in any meaningful way. The world is full of terrible things like poverty and hunger and disease and abuse, and I don’t do anything about it. I will live and die, and humanity will not be any better off.”
“Wow,” Jaime said again as the waitress approached. “Hold on, I’m going to need a drink for this.” She and Claire gave their orders and sat back again. “OK. What happened?”
I didn’t even know where to start.
“Is this about the farmer?” Claire’s expression was quizzical. “Jaime told me about him, but last I heard, things were going well.”
“They were.” I took another drink. “But then he must have realized I’m a spoiled rotten city girl who doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Jaime rolled her eyes and sat forward. “Do I need to remind you of the work you do for free while I am trying to keep the lights on at our office? You’re the most generous person I know, Margot!”
Claire nodded in agreement. “You’re constantly attending charity lunches and volunteering at things. I don’t know how you find the time!”
“OK, so your family has bags of money,” Jaime allowed, “but there’s a reason the hospital has a Lewiston wing and the art museum has a Thurber gallery. It’s because they give so much.”
“And remember last year when I mentioned the fundraiser at my school for that family who lost everything in a fire?” Claire said. “You were the first in line to write a check, and I happen to know it was the biggest one.”
“But it’s all so impersonal,” I complained. “I don’t feel like I’m really doing anything worthwhile except writing checks. And I’ve led this completely sheltered life. I don’t know how to mow a lawn, change a tire, or grill a burger!”
“What the hell difference does that that have to do with anything? You’re a good person, Margot.” Jaime reached across the table and touched my wrist. “You’re loving and smart and funny and successful and beautiful.”
I arched one brow at her.
“Well, yes, you’re looking a little ragged at the edges right now,” she conceded, “but any other day, you’re what every woman aspires to be.”
“Then why didn’t he want me?” I closed my eyes and felt tears on my lashes. “Why doesn’t anyone want me?”
“I hope you’re not talking about Tripp,” Jaime said. “You wasted enough time on him. And as for Jack, I don’t know, honey.” Her voice got softer. “Maybe he just wasn’t ready to want you. Maybe he’s not over his wife yet.”
“I guess that could be it. But I don’t get that feeling.” I chewed my lip for a moment. “He talked about loving her, and I have no doubt that losing her broke his heart. But he never said anything like ‘I’ll never get over her.’ Although,” I went on, the corners of my mouth turning down, “he did say he’d never get married again.”
“Why not?” Claire asked.
I sighed. “He said he knew what he had, and it doesn’t happen twice.”
“Maybe he’s crazy.” Claire reached out and patted my arm. “Because I cannot imagine why any man wouldn’t jump at the chance to be with you.”
“Well, he didn’t.” Sighing, I lifted my glass to my lips again. “And it’s got me messed up in the head. I really felt something for him, you guys.”