Page 35 of Two Hit Wonder
That one landed harder than Maeve expected. She nodded. "True. Iona?"
Iona was studying her guitar strap. "You've never once asked about my life." Her voice was softer than the others.
"I know about your life. Two marriages. Daughter. Pottery that doesn't sell."
"That's facts. That's not asking." She looked up and her eyes were stoney.
Maeve didn't have a response to that.
"My turn again," Cam said. "You also dress like you're auditioning for the role of Depressed Victorian Governess in a period drama."
"I do not."
"You're wearing three shades of gray right now."
Maeve looked down at herself. Black cardigan. Gray shirt. Charcoal trousers. "That's not Victorian."
"It's giving 'woman who writes poetry about dead birds.'"
"I don't write poetry about dead birds."
"You could, though. That's the vibe."
"What's wrong with gray?"
"Nothing, if you're a battleship. Or a cloud. Or clinically depressed."
"I'm not clinically depressed."
"The wardrobe says otherwise."
"Right, my turn again," Iona said. "You're terrible at accepting compliments. Whenever someone says something nice, you look at them like they've just spat in your tea."
"I don't do that."
"You're doing it right now."
Maeve rearranged her face into something she hoped was less hostile. "Better? And if that was a compliment, then god help us."
"Worse, actually. Now you look like you're planning a murder."
Ellie snorted. Actually snorted. Cam was cackling. Even Iona was biting her lip, trying not to laugh.
"Your songs are good, though," Cam added. "When you let them breathe. Which you never do because you're too busy strangling them into submission."
"Thank you. I think."
"And you make terrible faces when you're concentrating. Like you're trying to solve a cryptic crossword in your head."
"That's not true."
"You're doing it right now."
Maeve realized she was frowning. She tried to stop. Probably made it worse. "Okay," she said. "I think that's enough insults for one day."
"I had more," Cam said.
"I'm sure you did."
