Chapter 17
Maggie
The moment Maggie stepped into the spa, she felt her whole body exhale.
Cool air, quiet lighting, the faint smell of eucalyptus.
It was like being dropped into another dimension.
A blessedly sane dimension, with no helicopters, no champagne-soaked piano bars, no Gwen staring at her like she could see straight through her.
This was Maggie’s element.
She loved spas. Loved the ritual of it. The plush robes, the way someone else fussed over her skin for an hour, the tiny porcelain cups of tea that tasted vaguely of flowers.
After years of grad school, years of being broke, years of raising hell instead of resting, she had long ago decided that facials and massages were sacred, nonnegotiable self-care.
She stretched out on a cushioned lounge chair, cucumber-infused water sweating beside her, and let herself melt.
Danica wasn’t quite melting. She sat stiff, still pale from the helicopter ordeal, hands folded primly in her lap. Even in a spa robe, she looked like she was calmly assessing a new patient.
Kiera, on the other hand, was already reclined, eyes closed, head tipped back with a towel draped around her hair. She let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I could live here.”
Maggie smirked. “Same. Just bury me under hot stones and lavender oil.”
Kiera cracked one eye open. “Noted for your funeral arrangements.”
That made Danica laugh, a thin but genuine sound. She tucked her feet up under her robe, finally letting herself relax an inch. “I’m thinking let’s always have spa days on vacation. Maybe a hundred percent less helicopters, though.”
“It’s a good thing these people could resurrect you from the dead with a facial peel,” Maggie said.
Kiera chuckled. “Good, because Danica almost died on that helicopter.”
“I did,” Danica agreed solemnly, then ruined it by smiling.
Maggie tipped her head back against the chair, grinning. This — this was what she loved. The slow indulgence, the easy banter, the rare moment of stillness with her friends. No pretending, no chaos. Just the simple joy of being cared for.
Warm towels, soft music, the faint citrus scent of whatever serum the esthetician had brushed onto her skin — it all blurred into a haze that made Maggie’s body feel heavier and her mind floatier. The kind of setting where secrets used to tumble out like beads from a broken string.
She thought of Telluride.
Another spa, another trip, another trio tucked away in white robes.
Kiera had been the one to crack first, voice small but certain when she said her husband was cheating.
Maggie could still picture Danica’s hand shooting out to squeeze hers, how Kiera had crumpled then, the kind of pain you felt when you finally said the thing out loud.
Maggie remembered the silence after, the air thick and fragile. She’d filled it with her own truth, blurting it out before she could lose her nerve. That she’d been pregnant. That she’d had to end it because there wasn’t another choice. Because it hadn’t been safe or viable, not for her.
She remembered how relieved she’d felt. That she wasn’t carrying it alone anymore. That Danica and Kiera had listened and nodded and said all the right things, no judgment, no pity. Just the quiet kind of understanding that made her feel less like a failure and more like a person again.
Now, lying in the dim warmth of the Vegas spa, Maggie swallowed hard. She could still feel the relief of that moment, how necessary it had been.
But this wasn’t Telluride. This was Pete and Danica’s bachelorette trip. This was champagne toasts and chaos and pretending everything was easy. She couldn’t drop something that heavy here, couldn’t be the one to dim the lights with her grief again. Not now.
So she smiled into the towel at her throat, forcing her voice light when she said, “Spa days with you two are becoming our tradition. Just… minus the crying this time, okay?”
Kiera laughed, the sound muffled from under her face mask. “Not promising anything.”
Danica giggled too, softer, but it was enough. The heaviness thinned, replaced by warmth.
Maggie closed her eyes, the relief sharper than she wanted to admit.
Steam hissed softly from some hidden vent, the kind of sound that made Maggie’s body want to melt into the lounge chair forever. She was drifting, half dozing, when Kiera let out a long, audible sigh.
“Okay,” Kiera said, her voice muffled through the towel across her eyes. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but… I’m anxious Izzy and I might never set a date for the wedding.”
Maggie’s eyes snapped open, staring at the ceiling.
Danica lifted her towel, blinking. “What? Why would you think that?”
Kiera shrugged, the fabric rustling. “I don’t know.
We’ve been together long enough. And yes, we’re newly engaged, but it seems like she’s really dragging her feet about wedding planning.
She says she wants forever, but sometimes it feels like…
forever in Izzy-language is just a concept, not a plan.
” Her voice wobbled, just slightly. “What if she just liked the idea of being engaged but didn’t think about the reality of it? ”
Maggie pressed her lips together, her chest tightening. She thought of Izzy whispering her worries to them.
Danica reached out across the space between their chairs and found Kiera’s hand, squeezing gently. “She loves you. That’s obvious. Maybe you should talk to her.”
Kiera gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “That sounds like something people say when they don’t know the answer. I just can’t help but worry that I’m too much. Divorced single mom carries a lot of baggage, you know?”
Maggie swallowed, forcing her voice steady.
“Or maybe she’s just worried she’s not enough?
” Her heart ached with guilt as she reached blindly for Kiera’s other hand, squeezing just as Danica had.
“If there’s one thing I know about Izzy, it’s that she doesn’t do anything halfway.
If she says forever, she means it. She’s just… Izzy about it.”
Kiera exhaled, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. “I really hope so. I love her so much.”
Maggie leaned back against the cushion, closing her eyes again, her heart pounding. Elowen will have a field day with this one.
Danica was still glowing, hands clasped like she was already at the champagne toast. Kiera, though — Kiera had pulled the towel fully back over her face, as if hiding might protect her from how much she wanted.
Maggie’s stomach turned.
She’d basically told Izzy love was a lie and not worth it. She’d meddled, like she always did, charging in with her own read of the situation, certain she was protecting everyone from disaster.
But she’d been wrong.
What did that mean for the lie she’d also been telling her friends?
Her throat burned. She forced herself to breathe slowly, to lean back in the chair and let the esthetician paint another layer of mask across her skin.
It was the same pattern, wasn’t it? Charging in, thinking she knew best, only to make the wrong call. With her friends. With Gwen. With herself.
Maggie pressed her lips together under the cooling mask, fighting the sudden sting in her eyes. If Danica or Kiera looked too closely, they’d see it, and she couldn’t bear that. Not today. Not here.
So she stayed still, the perfect picture of spa-day calm, while inside she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.
Maggie had almost managed to settle into the quiet again — mask cooling, hands folded loosely in her lap — when Danica shifted on the next chair over, turning her head toward her.
“So,” Danica said, her voice soft, careful. “How are things with Gwen?”
Maggie’s eyes flew open. “What do you mean?”
Kiera tilted her head on her towel pillow, not unkind, just curious. “We mean… when we were there for your mom’s funeral, things felt… off. Between you two.”
Danica nodded gently. “Yeah. Obviously that was a tough time for you, but we just want to make sure it’s okay now.”
The room suddenly felt hotter under the robe. Maggie’s pulse picked up, trapped between the sting of memory and the fact that they were looking at her like they knew. They kept using the word we, like they’d spent time discussing it.
She forced a smile, the kind she used to wear at corporate Christmas parties with Gwen — polite, polished, deflective. “Things are great,” she said lightly, waving a hand. “We’re fine.”
Kiera studied her for a second longer, like she was weighing whether to press. Then she nodded, settling back under her towel. “Good. That’s good.”
Danica closed her eyes again, relaxing into the warmth. “You both deserve that.”
Maggie’s throat tightened. She let her head fall back against the cushion, staring at the soft glow of the ceiling lights, willing her face to stay smooth under the mask.
Because the truth was too messy, too jagged for this quiet spa. And lying — well, she’d been lying about Gwen for months now. What was one more?
Maggie was still staring at the ceiling, rehearsing the fine art of pretending, when Kiera shifted beside her. She reached across the narrow space between their lounge chairs and gently closed her hand over Maggie’s.
“You know,” Kiera said softly, her voice steady in the hush of the spa, “after my divorce, therapy really helped me work things out. Have you… have you tried therapy since your mom passed away?”
The question landed like a strike to the chest.
Maggie’s mouth opened, but no sound came. Shock hit first — like, what? here? now? — and then something in her just… gave. The mask on her skin felt suddenly too tight, the room too warm, her chest too heavy.
Before she could stop herself, her eyes blurred. Tears spilled fast and hot down her temples, cutting clean tracks through the expensive serum.
“Oh—” Kiera squeezed her hand tighter, alarmed but gentle. “Maggie — hey, oh god, did I say something?”
Danica sat up halfway, wide-eyed.