Page 120 of Just One More Thing

She smiles the moment she sees me. “You must be Emory,” she says. “I’m Ainsley.” Before I can fully process the sentence, she’s already crossing the room and hugging me like we’ve known each other longer than ten seconds.

“Nice to meet you.” I laugh.

“You too. I already feel emotionally invested in whatever’s happening here.”

“Oh. Okay. I think.”

Bethany appears from the kitchen, carrying two bottles of wine. She’s wearing a gray tee shirt that says ZERO FUCKS GIVEN in block letters.

Bethany is very self-aware.

“Sit,” she says. “Cheese board’s coming.”

“You made a cheese board?”

“I put cheese on a board,” she corrects. “I don’t have patience for the architecture.” She drops the wine bottles onto the coffee table with a thunk and disappears back into the kitchen.

I kick off my boat shoes by the door and settle into the armchair by the window just as the screen door swings open again.

“Giiirls.” Lainey bursts inside, waving two tote bags over her head. “The snacks are here,” she declares. “Let the girl talk begin.”

“Did you remember the olives?” Ainsley asks.

“Duh.”

Ainsley stretches her arm toward Lainey. “Fork ‘em over.”

“Emory, yay, you’re here.” Lainey leans down to air kiss my cheek.

“I am.”

Bethany returns carrying a cheese board that is, in fact, an actual cheese board. Multiple cheeses. Grapes. Crackers. Tiny bowl of nuts. Small jar of honey.

She sets it down on top of a stack of celebrity gossip magazines, which surprises me because Bethany does not strike me as someone who cares which celebrity is engaged, divorced, or suddenly “aging backwards” after a month in Cabo and access to suspiciously expensive dermatology.

Within minutes we’re arranged around the living room like this is something we’ve done forever.

Ainsley claims one end of the couch. Bethany takes the other, tucking one leg underneath herself. Lainey sinks into a beanbag chair near the fireplace, and I regret not choosing childhood comfort over adult dignity.

Bethany pours wine into my glass with alarming generosity. Then she takes a sip from her own and says, “Okay. Who’s starting?”

“She is,” Ainsley says, pointing directly at me. “I’ve been gone for two weeks and the town group chats read like a daytime soap written by seriously horny retirees.”

Lainey sighs solemnly and glances at me. “You’re trending.”

I take a long sip of wine while all three of them lean forward with varying levels of enthusiasm and concern. “Where would you like me to start?” I ask.

“With the most important question,” Lainey says. “Has he said it yet?”

I look at her. “Said what?”

“Lainey,” Bethany says, already sounding exhausted.

Lainey leans forward and whispers dramatically, “The L word.”

Ainsley jerks upright. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. I thought he already said the L word years ago?”

And just like that, every eye in the room swings back to me.