Page 49 of The Write Choice

I sigh. It’s disconcerting how many times I have thought about alcohol in the past month. It doesn’t make me feel great about myself, truth be told.

No sense in dwelling on it in Jenny’s driveway. Chocolate chips will have to do. I grab the plate and get out of the car, walking slowly up to the door and ringing the bell. As the door opens, I’m greeted by Mac instead of Jenny, and I’m struck by a pang of jealousy. I’ve never had a friend I’ve been close enough with to answer their door for them. It’s such a strange thing to be envious of that it catches me off guard.

“Hey,” Mac greets me, pulling the door open wider. “Come on in. Jenny is just—” She’s cut off by a crash from the second floor. She glances toward the ceiling. “You okay up there?” she shouts as I step past her into the house.

“Yeah, sorry!” Jenny’s call comes just before a series of muffled curses.

Mac shakes her head in the way of the long suffering as she closes the door behind me. “Jenny is changing upstairs. She should be down in a minute. Or ten. Anyway, welcome to her house. I can take those from you if you want.” She indicates the plate of cookies, which she relieves me of as she heads toward what I presume is the kitchen. I notice she’s not wearing any shoes, so I kick mine off along with my coat and follow her.

Ben is sitting at the kitchen table, and when he sees me, he smiles broadly. “Hi, Katie. It’s good to see you.”

“Hi,” I say skeptically. I’m pretty sure Brandon said Ben would be hanging out with him and Daniel. But, maybe he’s like me—the outsider amongst two childhood best friends.

As if reading my mind, he responds, “I’m leaving in a minute. Jenny requested I make my famous pasta sauce for you ladies, so I’m just waiting for it to simmer.”

“I can take it from here if you want,” Mac offers.

Ben raises his eyebrows at her as he moves to the stove and starts stirring what I assume is the sauce. “I was also tasked with ensuring the house doesn’t burn down.”

Mac narrows her eyes in frustration. “That was one time, and it wasn’t even me. Daniel is the one who can’t cook.”

“How do I know his culinary ineptitude hasn’t rubbed off on you? What’s his is yours and all that,” he teases.

“You don’t forget how to cook just because you get married to someone who sets off fire alarms in the kitchen,” Mac insists as Jenny floats in. She wraps her arms around Ben’s torso and pushes herself up onto her toes to kiss his cheek.

“I’ve got it now.” She takes the spoon from his hand. “You can get out of here if you want.”

Ben checks his watch and smirks at Mac. “Well, you might not become a worse cook because your husband is incapable, but I’m becoming someone who is always late because of this one over here.” He tilts his head to indicate Jenny, who shrugs.

“Stop yapping and leave, then,” she jokes, setting the spoon on a rest next to the stove. He grabs her waist and spins her suddenly toward him. She lets out a small yelp just before his lips meet hers. I look away in deference to them, but my gaze lands on Mac. She’s still staring right at them, a goofy smile on her face. It’s a stark reminder that these three know each other well, too. They’ve all been teaching together for almost a decade.

Ben pulls away, and Jenny swats at his bicep. “Go. You wouldn’t want to keep the boys waiting.”

“Have a nice time.” Ben tips a fake cowboy hat at the three of us in turn. “Save me some meatballs.” He grabs his wallet and phone off the counter and waves at us as he leaves.

As soon as we hear the door close behind him, Mac plops into a chair at the kitchen table. “I do not plan on leaving him any meatballs,” she says to no one in particular as she grabs a cookie off the plate and takes a huge bite.

“Absolutely not,” Jenny responds, opening the oven to check the food. Apparently satisfied, she closes the oven door and slides into another one of the chairs, also grabbing a cookie and taking a bite. They both turn to me at the same time, and Jenny waves to another chair. “Do you want to have a seat?”

It suddenly occurs to me that I’ve been standing in the middle of the kitchen, awkwardly watching this entire exchange, and I feel like a complete idiot. I try not to scowl at my acute awareness of how out of place I am as I lower myself into one of the two remaining chairs.

“Cookie?” Mac tilts the plate to me.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “Those were meant for after dinner,” I say tentatively.

She purses her lips against a smile. “What a mom thing to say,” she says. I bristle a little, but there’s no malice in it. A corner of her mouth is turned up and the corners of her eyes are crinkled playfully.

“Yeah,” Jenny smirks. “Live a little.”

I feel like this is some kind of challenge. I glance between the two of them, each now chewing on a cookie. I shrug, grab one, and take a bite.

Mac and Jenny both smile perfect, beautiful smiles, but it’s contagious. I smile, too, then glance around the kitchen.

“No wine tonight?” I ask. The last time I was with them, they were both clutching glasses of wine as if that was the sole thing between them and a breakdown.

Mac shakes her head. “We’re cutting back,” she says noncommittally.

“Not on my account, I hope.” I raise an eyebrow.