Chapter Forty-One
BOX WINE AND BOMBSHELLS
Kate
“I brought the good bottle,” she says, wiggling it at me before twisting off the cap. “By which I mean it was on sale and has a fancy font.”
Helen snorts as she drops into a chair. “As long as it’s not the boxed stuff again.”
“That was one time,” Margot says, already handing her a glass. “And we both know you didn’t hate it.”
I lean against the counter, smiling as I watch them settle into their usual chaos. I’d cleaned the house this morning before leaving for work because we had plans—Margot insisted on a proper catch-up, and Helen and I both quickly agreed. We all needed this.
Helen kicks off her shoes and fixes me with a look. “Alright, spill it. How’s Cole?”
I sigh and reach for my own glass. “Healing. Slow, but steady. He’s walking without the cane now, only using it when he’s tired. Eating like a horse again. Back to being a pain in the ass.”
“So,” Margot says, “normal.”
“Normal-ish,” I say. “He’s quieter lately. I know he’s dealing with some stuff. But he’s getting there.”
I hesitate, not wanting to overshare Cole’s personal business.
“What is it?” Helen asks.
I frown and pick a piece of lint off my shirt. “On top of everything else, his girlfriend broke up with him.”
Margot groans, shaking her head. “That’s awful.”
I nod. “I know. He really liked her too. I’ve been trying to stay out of it.”
Margot takes a sip, then points at me. “He’s lucky to have you. You know that, right?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s also lucky I haven’t smothered him with a pillow for refusing to rest properly.”
Helen laughs. “I mean, that’s love.”
Margot leans back in her chair, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “And speaking of love…”
“No,” I say immediately.
“Yes,” Margot counters. “We’ve been patient. We’ve given you weeks. But we need Jack updates. I need details. I need adjectives.”
Helen, ever the quiet instigator, just sips her wine and nods. “It’s true. We’ve let you grieve and cope and mom your way through this, but now it’s time for a little gossip.”
I groan and cover my face with one hand. “Why do I even let you in my house?”
“Because we bring wine and we know too much,” Margot says sweetly. “Now. Was it good? Was it... memorable?”
“It was... fine,” I mumble.
Margot gasps. “Fine? You don’t sneak off with a tall, broody literal GI Joe and call it fine. Try again.”
I set my glass down with a sigh. “Okay, fine. It was really good. There. Are you happy?”
Helen grins. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Margot fans herself with a napkin. “You realize I’m going to picture this for at least the next twenty-four hours, right?”
“Please don’t.”
“Too late.”
We all burst into laughter, it’s too loud for the kitchen but just right for the moment. For a little while, we forget the heaviness of the last few weeks. The grief, the worry, the quiet that had settled over everything like dust.
And instead, we drink cheap wine, tell inappropriate stories, and let ourselves be women again—not just mothers or caretakers or worriers.
Just us.
And honestly? It’s exactly what I needed.
Margot tops off our glasses and leans in like she’s settling in for round two. “So. Are you seeing him again, or was that a one-time field trip to the land of orgasms?”
“Margot,” Helen hisses, laughing.
I shake my head, cheeks warm. “We’ve seen each other a few times since. Coffee. A walk.
A casual dinner that involved takeout containers.”
Helen raises her brows. “Sounds serious.”
“Well, it’s not not serious,” I admit. “He’s easy to be around. Solid. Quiet, but not in a way that makes me work for it. Just… steady.”
Margot clutches her chest. “You’re falling for him. Oh my gosh, first guy you met on a dating app and boom!”
“I am not,” I say quickly. Then, after a beat, “Okay maybe.”
Helen grins into her wine glass. “You deserve good, Kate.”
I shrug. “It’s been a long time since good didn’t come with caveats. I’m not sure I know how to trust it yet.”
“You’ll get there,” Helen says gently.
Margot raises her glass. “To healing, hot men, and highly inappropriate friends.”
We clink our glasses and drink. And in that moment, surrounded by the women who know every version of me, I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late for something good.