'M' is For: [Ch14] Blood in the Cut - Part 2

Finally, the holidays arrived. I went back home for Christmas and did my best approximation of someone who was happy and thriving. Jenny was traveling for a friend’s wedding, or she might have called me out on it, but my parents and brother were none the wiser. When my mom grudgingly asked about Thomas, I deflected as best as I could. And when my brother complained that he’d been the only one in the family who hadn’t had the chance to meet him, I forced a smile and played it off.

Everywhere in the house, I encountered Thomas’s ghost. He was ducking through the door frame to my room, or passing me the orange juice over the kitchen table. My affection-starved brain even summoned an image of him sitting with me in the living room, smiling at me like he never wanted to look away, even though I knew now how that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was almost a relief to go back to my apartment where the memories of him were less vivid.

In the end, it was a text from Danielle that led me to salvage some pretense of friendship with Missy. I woke up one morning and found that she’d sent me a message that said, There’s a scarf at Missy’s that someone left behind. I think it’s yours.

When I got the message, I knew exactly which scarf she meant. I really liked that scarf. It was navy blue with a pattern of yellow flowers, and for what had been an impulse buy several years ago, it was soft and warm like nothing else I owned. I must have forgotten it the last time I was over there for Missy’s ladies’ night. I arranged with Missy to drop by her place after barre and retrieve it. We both knew that things couldn’t ever go back to the way they used to be, but on the surface it was all smiles and friendliness. Neither of us mentioned what Missy had said about setting me up with Thomas for laughs. I even promised Missy I’d be there at the next book club.

Heading home afterward, my favorite scarf once more around my neck, I was startled to see a familiar woman sitting just a couple seats down on the subway. It took me a couple moments before I finally placed Adrienne, one of the original members of our post-barre drink nights. She was occupied with her phone, dressed in a stylish blazer, pin-straight hair falling down her shoulders.

“Hey, Adrienne,” I said, and she looked up. “It’s been awhile. How have you been?”

Adrienne glanced me over, eyes flickering down my body with a vague expression of distaste. I felt a prickle of irritation and remembered why we’d never hit it off. “Oh. You. Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“It’s Mallory.”

“Right, of course.” Adrienne paused, and for a moment I thought our conversation was over. But then she spoke up again. “How is Missy doing?”

There were a lot of ways to answer that, but none of them somehow seemed appropriate. “Missy’s good. Why wouldn’t she be?”

Adrienne didn’t reply at first. The subway pulled into its next stop, brakes screeching. Once the doors had closed and the subway resumed its route, she finally said, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but seeing as we’re not on speaking terms anymore, what the hell. Missy’s parents are getting divorced.”

“What?” Missy hadn’t mentioned that at all, and she was usually pretty forthcoming when it came to talking about her family.

Adrienne gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, yeah. Everyone back home knows Missy’s dad is a notorious cheat who can’t keep it in his pants, but things got serious with another woman. Missy cut me off when I tried to tell her; she likes to think her parents are straight out of a fairytale.”

“But…they just went on some big trip together last month,” I said, shaking my head incredulously. “Is this recent?”

“Recent enough. I heard about it from my mom when I went back for the holidays.”

I remembered how cagey Thomas had been about the Barcelona trip after they had gotten back. Could that have been when things had started to unravel? Missy’s behavior since then made a lot more sense if that were the case. Thomas had known, I thought with absolute certainty. But of course he hadn’t told anyone. Why would he?

Adrienne glanced up as the subway approached the next station. Signs flashed by us, becoming more legible as the train slowed.

“This is my stop,” Adrienne said, gathering her bag. “Well, take care. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

“But probably not,” I said, voicing the quiet part out loud. Adrienne glanced at me, her lips twitching in real amusement for the first time.

“Probably not,” Adrienne agreed, and then she was gone.

❖❖❖

I had no interest in psychoanalyzing Missy. Whether it was the divorce weighing on her mind or something else, though, it was clear that I had to revisit my early impression of Missy as someone brimming with easygoing confidence and carefree laughter. Her smiles were harder, her moods more unpredictable. During the next book club event, which I turned up for as promised, I watched as Missy sent a girl home in tears because the girl had ‘disrespected’ her. We never learned what the offense was, and we never saw the girl again.

Missy had always been the reigning queen of her book club parties, but after that, the dynamic subtly changed. The attention people paid her became even more fawning and obsequious than it had been before. Whatever people’s privately held opinions of Missy might be—and I caught the whispers and murmurs in the corners and back rooms whenever she passed—no one wanted to risk being outright banned. In her circles, having the invite meant everything. And maybe this new sense of power got a little to Missy’s head, because she started calling her book clubs more often than ever. Whereas once it had been a monthly affair, now they were happening every other week, if not weekly.

Too bad I couldn’t enjoy the greater frequency of the events. Gone was the time I used to count down the days to the next book club, crossing them off the calendar on my fridge with earnest anticipation. Now everything weighed on me, from Missy’s new bitchy attitude to the proliferation of her groveling lapdogs to Thomas’s unavoidable presence. I hadn’t spoken to Thomas since that day he confronted me outside the office, and my friends were too astute to ask why. I rather suspected that Kiara and Danielle already knew something of the story by now, anyway.

It was my friends who kept me from dropping Missy’s book clubs altogether. Between my day job and my freelance writing on the side, book club nights were some of the only times I got to hang out with them. Liam, the intern I’d met months ago, had in particular found a special place in my heart. He had fallen hopelessly in love with another boy who was a regular at these parties, and whenever he saw me, he’d pull me aside and recount in endearing but agonizing detail every interaction they’d shared.

Nonetheless, I made a new rule for myself: no more overnighting at Missy’s after the party was over.

One morning, after a particularly long night, we were sitting around eating the brunch that Thomas had cooked. We were joking around and goofing off when Missy, emerging from the master bedroom in a silk night robe, saw us all and stopped.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Missy said to Thomas. I glanced at Thomas. It wasn’t until she pointed it out that I realized anything was unusual; he always wore glasses around the office, and I’d gotten so used to seeing him both in and out of them that I never thought anything of it. But he’d never worn them around Missy, much less around her other friends.

Thomas raised a hand to touch his face, like he’d forgotten they were there. “Oh. I’ll go change them for contacts.”

“Nevermind that,” Missy said abruptly. “Thomas, I want you to suck me off.”

Thomas looked at her, surprised. “Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Thomas was quiet for a moment. Then, “No,” he said in a flat voice. “Let’s do it later.”

Color burned in Missy’s cheeks. “Do you love me or not?” Missy’s voice rose, unexpectedly shrill.

Thomas looked at her for a long moment that seemed to stretch on for far too long. Just when I thought he was going to refuse her again, he said, “Yes Ma’am,” and got up from the table.

The rest of us quietly finished eating while Thomas serviced her. By the time Missy had come, tossing back her hair and giving a low cry of pleasure, the easygoing mood of breakfast had completely evaporated. Seeing how Thomas’s glasses had gotten fogged up with flecks and smudges of filth made me queasy. I couldn’t have been more ready to go home.

I told myself that I didn’t care, that Thomas had made it clear to me that I couldn’t hope to get between him and Missy. What they did, and how they loved, was their own affair. Sometimes, I even believed myself.

❖❖❖

“You should have your own little book club,” Edward told me one night, when I decided to play hooky from one of her parties and just hang out with Edward instead. “Invite only the people you actually get on with.”

“Yeah, that could get awkward really fast,” I said, shaking my head. Missy would hate the idea, and I had no interest in competing with her.

“No, think about it,” Edward urged me, reaching for my soda and taking a sip. “I think you’d do a bloody good job. You’re so attentive and caring.”

“Yeah? Like of you?” I smiled. We nuzzled and ended up kissing, which then brought me back to Edward’s ridiculously nice apartment. No more was said on the topic of parties that night. We had other, more immediate questions to resolve between the two of us. Such as, just how many times could I edge Edward without driving him absolutely insane?

After the fallout with Thomas, I appreciated Edward all the more. My relationship with him was simple and uncomplicated. We liked each other, but neither of us was looking for anything more than that. He had the added bonus of being one of the few people I felt I could be fully honest with. As someone who was outside of Missy’s circle, I could trust him to be more objective.

The party idea was dropped after that, and I can’t say I thought too much more about it right then. Any time outside of work that wasn’t spent hanging out with my friends was spent on my freelance writing. After the publication of my article in Zinc, the online magazine that had accepted me, I was finding it easier to sell my stories. It was a nice little source of additional income, and the writing ended up being a welcome distraction from book club drama. The stories were a good excuse to push myself to get out there, talking to people I never would have had the chance to meet otherwise.

Sometimes, after a particularly compelling interview, I felt an urge to share my experience with someone who’d understand my excitement. Always, my first thought went towards Thomas, who had encouraged me down this path, until I remembered that I wasn’t speaking to him anymore. Truth be told, I missed Thomas, a lot more than I wanted to admit. He had filled a space in my life that no one, not even Edward, had yet to replace.