Nun the Wiser (Bad Habit Book Club #2)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and it’s almost 8:00 p.m. That’s why I’m having such a hard time focusing on the conversation. I’d like to use being hungry as an excuse for why I always have a hard time with the chitchat portion of a night out, but the truth is, I just hate chitchat. No, I haven’t watched that show with the dragons. Of course I’ve noticed the weather—I don’t live in an underground bunker, and I have eyes, and skin . And frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about that sports team or movie star or musician in all the headlines.
I get that maybe my shortlist of conversational topics limits what we can talk about, but you know what? We don’t always have to talk. There’s value in comfortable silence.
All I care about right now is food. I drum my fingers on the tabletop anxiously as the others talk about that singer dating the guy with the mustache. At least, I think that’s what they’re still talking about. I tuned them out a few minutes ago while I checked my work email to make sure everything was still set for tomorrow morning’s meeting. Having finished with that, I sigh and scan the room for the waitress. “Where are our Pizookies?” I snap impatiently.
Everyone at the table blinks at me like I’ve just announced my intention to become a stand-up comedian, instead of having asked a perfectly normal question about when our food is going to arrive, at a restaurant where we’ve come to eat . It’s been—I glance at my watch. Oh. Only about five minutes since we put in the order. It feels longer than that.
My friend Helen Flanagan offers me a sympathetic smile, rubbing my back. Out of everyone here, I suspect she’s the most likely to understand what it’s like to get hangry. It’s difficult to imagine Helen ever being snappish, with how persistently cheerful she is all the time, but the woman does have a temper. I call it a Loch Ness temper—rarely spotted, rumored to be only myth, but once you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it.
Sitting next to her is the Bounty Hunter—actual name, Thaddeus “Thad” Hughes, but I won’t deign to call him that until he’s proven himself worthy. I suspect he’s the reason Helen has been even more sunshine-and-rainbows happy lately; an endless supply of orgasms from a hot, tattooed ginger will do that, I suppose. I don’t mind Helen finally getting some good sex in her life. I just know that out of everyone in this friend group, I need to be the one to remind the Bounty Hunter not to break her heart. Or else. Hence, why the Bounty Hunter won’t get the benefit of being called by his real name until he’s proven himself worthy.
On the Bounty Hunter’s other side is Grady Kelley, the ex-priest. He’s a new addition to the group. Jury’s still out on him. He’s too handsome to be trustworthy, with that dark hair and chiseled jaw and Irish accent. He also seems to be pretty friendly with Tha—with the Bounty Hunter, so that’s a strike against him. Then again, it seems that all my fears about him pursuing sweet, young Nina when I first met him were completely unfounded, so I guess that’s in his favor. Maybe tonight he’ll do something awful, like eat more than his share of the Pizookie, or something wonderful, like give me his portion of the Pizookie, and I’ll be able to decide one way or the other if he deserves my eternal scorn.
Last but not least is the darling little fairy princess, Nina. She’s the youngest of the group, but that’s not the only reason she inspires my mama-bear level of protectiveness. She’s so quiet and delicate, and sometimes she gets lost in her own little dream world, far away from where the rest of us can reach her. Plus there’s always the random dudes trying to pick her up when she clearly has no interest in them. It makes me want to lock her away in a tower somewhere, where she’ll be safe.
I guess that makes me the evil witch in this friend group. And I’m okay with that, actually. I don’t mind being a badass Baba Yaga if it means keeping my friends safe. In fact, if I could cast a spell to make the earth crack open so the other half of the table (aka, those with Y chromosomes) would fall into a fiery pit of magma, that would probably make my life a lot easier.
This thought falls into the category of things I should probably not admit out loud.
“Why don’t we start talking about the book?” Helen suggests, still rubbing my back soothingly, like she can sense I’m wishing I had magic powers that would kill off all the men at the table. She gets me like that. “Maybe that will distract us until the food arrives.”
I’m so lulled by her soothing, distracting-Matilda-from-being-grouchy voice that it takes me a moment to process what she’s saying. What the what? “What book?” I demand.
Okay, so we are technically a book club, or at least, that’s how it started out when the three of us—Nina, Helen, and I—didn’t know each other all that well. Once upon a time, the only thing we had in common was that we all used to be nuns. Well, technically, I was the only real nun; Helen was a sister, and Nina was a novitiate. We all met up at a support group for former sisters who were now living as laypeople. Realizing we were all about a decade younger than anyone else attending the meetings, we’d gradually started spending more and more time together on our own, just the three of us. At first, having a book to discuss at our meetups gave us something to talk about, aside from how weird it was not to spend most of our time praying and how awesome it was to be able to freely ogle gifs of our Chris of choice. (Mine was Hemsworth, Helen’s was Pine, and Nina’s was Evans.)
But then we started ordering Pizookies and fighting over getting our full share. And somehow that led to us doing other things together, like going to movies, doing puzzle nights, attempting to build Ikea bookshelves, apologizing for things said while attempting to build Ikea bookshelves, celebrating Galentine’s Day, binging the latest season of Love Is Blind . Normal friend stuff.
Eventually the “book” part of book club became a thing of the past, mostly because we didn’t need it anymore to have something to connect us—and, okay, if I’m being honest, because I never actually read the books. Who has time to read anyway?
So when Helen texted me about the book for the meeting tonight, I thought it was a joke. A #ThrowbackThursday, if you will, even though it’s Tuesday. I didn’t think we were expected to actually read the thing, much less talk about it. Especially because we’ve been doing less and less of the girl stuff together, just the three of us. Our hangouts still happen, just not as frequently. Helen has made an effort not to be the dreaded disappearing-woman-with-boyfriend, but sometimes she brings the Bounty Hunter along, or she’s so busy texting him, it’s like she isn’t even in the room.
This is how it starts , an ugly little voice whispers in my mind every time Helen cancels last minute or forgets we made plans.
Shut up, you , I always snap back at it, but I can still feel the voice lingering, all smug and insufferable and snuggled deep into my brain.
Now at the table, Helen’s still smiling, but somehow also frowning at me at the same time. I’m not sure how her face does it, but it’s a very Helen look. “The book. We texted about it.”
“Yeah, but that was only a week ago. No one can read a book in a week.” Granted, I wouldn’t have read the book even if I’d had a year to do it, but I think I’m making a valid point here, and if it will keep us from spending the next hour talking about a book I haven’t—nor ever will—read, I will happily die on this hill.
I look around the table for confirmation, searching for any allies to agree with me. Nina’s obviously read the book; the last I heard, her uncle isn’t letting them watch television anymore, so what else is she supposed to do with her time? But Grady, the ex-priest, is looking at me like he’s not sure if I’m joking or not—I get that look a lot from people who don’t know me well. I’m rarely, if ever, joking, and he’ll learn that soon enough.
Finally, in desperation, I look at the Bounty Hunter. Surely if he’s good for anything, it will be not doing the assigned reading. Maybe we can finally bond over that. Maybe he’ll finally earn being called by his actual name.
But he has his copy of the book out on the table, and I can see it’s been dog-eared in places. Great, just great. Not only did he read the book, but he took notes .
No “Thad” for you , I chide him silently, glowering.
“Did you read any of it?” Helen doesn’t sound disappointed. Instead, she sounds more like a schoolteacher who knows I’m going to fail the assignment but is trying to give me any points she can.
“The first few chapters,” I lie. “I liked the part with the...dog.”
“The dog?” Nina echoes. She frowns to herself, flipping through the first few pages. “I don’t remember that part...”
I’m pretty sure Nina is the only person giving me the benefit of the doubt that I might have actually read part of the book. Everyone else is avoiding eye contact, like they assume I must be embarrassed and they don’t want to humiliate me any further by making it obvious that they know I’m lying.
The thing is, I’m not embarrassed. I’m sick to my stomach. I’m terrified . My heart is racing, and my hands are shaking underneath the table.
This is how it starts—the very first step toward them ultimately deciding to leave me behind.
As they launch into their discussion of the book, I tune out the conversation, but I watch their faces. Everyone is invested in the discussion. No one is just pretending to have done the reading or acting like they enjoyed it when they didn’t. They’re all having a good time. They’re laughing and debating and bonding . And I’m on the outside, looking in.
When the Pizookie finally arrives, I grip my spoon, ready to go to war over my territory. I carefully mark out everyone’s fifth of the dessert. But everyone else is so into the book discussion, they’re hardly paying any attention—I know because I skim off a small slice of the Bounty Hunter’s portion and he doesn’t even glare at me.
I finish my section of the Pizookie well before anyone else is done and then just sit back, pretending to listen to a conversation I have no part in. As I do so, I get a glimpse of the future. I can always predict the moment a friendship shifts. The moment I’m about to be left behind. Everyone else is having a good time, and they’re going to want to continue to talk about the books. And that will naturally evolve into them wanting to do other things that won’t interest or involve me. They’ll become a new group, the four of them, and I’ll have to start over, again. All on my own.
When it becomes clear the conversation is dying down, I sit up, pasting on my most eager smile. “So what’s the book for next week, huh? Can’t wait to read it!”
I have no idea when I’m supposed to read it, with the hundreds of pages of trial documents I’ll be scouring through on top of my already overlong work hours, but I’ll find a way. I’ll wake up early to read before work if I have to, or read the book on the elliptical machine at the gym.
Everyone blinks at me in surprise. My enthusiasm must be dialed just a bit too high, but I don’t know how to turn it down. My smile feels strained, even to myself. “This was just so much fun, I want to make sure I’ve read the whole book for next time.”
“Not just the dog parts?” the Bounty Hunter returns wryly.
I don’t miss the elbow Helen digs into his ribs. She smiles at me encouragingly. “Why don’t you choose it, Matilda? Then we’ll know it’s something you actually want to read.”
My over-the-top smile falters at that. I know almost zero books. I haven’t read a whole book since high school, and even then, it was the SparkNotes version. “Um...what about... War and Peace ?”
A little cliche for a Russian girl, I know, but hey, it’s the only title that comes to mind.
Helen and Nina both duck their heads to hide their smiles. Grady blinks at me. “That book is over a thousand pages.”
“Is that long?” I ask uncertainly.
“What about The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time ?” Helen swoops in to save me. “It has some mystery elements, so Thad, you’ll enjoy that part. And there’s a dog for Matilda!”
Great. Now I’m going to be the dog person in the group. I don’t even like dogs. They’re messy and drooly and too codependent. “Can’t wait to read it!” I say enthusiastically.
This will work. This can work! I’ll find a way to make it work.