Chapter 20
Ingrid doesn’t say anything at first. She smiles and takes a long sip of her Bloody Mary as she debates her options.
The girl has balls, she’ll give her that. To ask her for a literary agent recommendation after they’ve only had two transfusions together? It’s way too soon. Whatever happened to waiting until you’ve proven yourself to the other person before you start asking for career favors?
On the other hand, she’s not exactly thrilled to have to sit next to her for five long, awkward hours after she turns her down. She glances at her phone, tempted to just give her a referral. It would only take one text from Ingrid.
Be careful. Don’t give too much too soon. It’ll make her want more, and eventually she’ll push too far and get hurt. Ingrid’s seen it too many times. And so she handles it the best way she knows how: She pretends not to hear the request.
“Do you know what you want for lunch?” Ingrid asks, pointing at the menus.
“What?” Maggie asks, confused.
She grabs the menus and hands one to Maggie, telling her that the chicken marsala is quite good. Maggie doesn’t respond. She looks like her dog died as she mumbles to the flight attendant that she’ll take the chicken. Ingrid feels terrible and tries to get Maggie to go back to her story.
“So where did you go after you left Vivian’s? Who did you hang out with? And how did you get into Williams?” Ingrid asks.
Maggie doesn’t say anything for a long time.
“I…uh…hung out with a girl. Tonya,” Maggie finally says.
“Who was she?”
“She was our neighbor. But my mom never wanted me to hang out with her much. Tonya was a…Let’s just say she always disappeared at night in really nice clothes.”
Ingrid stiffens. “So she was a…?”
“Yeah,” Maggie says quietly. Ingrid suddenly feels nauseous, the Bloody Mary stinging inside her.
Ingrid doesn’t know why she’s getting so worked up.
It’s just some random girl Maggie used to know.
It’s not like Maggie’s a hooker. But all of a sudden, she feels a sharp ache in her rib cage, like it might crack if she hears another word.
At the same time, she has to know every detail of Maggie’s encounter with this girl, right now.
“Why did your mother let you hang out with a prostitute?”
“Hey, no, Tonya was great,” Maggie says defensively. “She was a really smart person.”
Ingrid’s own cheeks burn. It’s at this point that Ingrid realizes Maggie’s hands are shaking slightly in her lap. She’s upsetting the poor girl. It’s not her fault her friend was a hooker.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean it like that.” She feels terrible, disgusted with herself for judging Tonya. Ingrid squeezes her own eyes shut. Before she can stop herself, she tells Maggie, “This isn’t about Tonya or you. It’s about Kyle.”
“What about Kyle?” Maggie asks. Almost simultaneously, she adds, “Oh.”
Ingrid’s horrified at her confession. She wishes she could drape the blanket over her face so Maggie won’t have to look at her for the rest of the flight.
“Yeah,” Ingrid mumbles to her seat belt.
“When did this happen?”
“Five months ago.” Ingrid shakes her head. It feels weird talking to someone besides Geneva about it. “It was only one time. Still.”
Maggie gets very quiet. “My boyfriend…he cheated on me, too.”
Ingrid snaps out of thinking about her and Kyle. “You’re kidding.” Who would want to cheat on such a beautiful young thing?
“You want to hear the worst part? It was with Estelle,” she adds.
“With Estelle?!”
Maggie nods, laughing suddenly. “He said he needed to do it for research because he was working on a novel.”
They both start laughing and can’t stop. It feels good to cackle at the absurdness of men and their delusional decisions. When the laughing dies down, Ingrid looks over at Maggie, serious.
“I’m sorry. You’re going to find someone better,” Ingrid promises her.
“I already have,” she beams. “But it’s not a guy. I’ve got a great roommate. And now I’ve got a great mentor.” She holds up her glass.
Ingrid smiles. They clink glasses.
The flight attendant arrives with their food. Maggie reaches for a bread roll. “That’s what I’m saying about Summer Rain. You don’t have to build the perfect life with a guy. You can also build it with a friend who loves you the way you deserve to be loved.”
Ingrid loves that last sentence. It’s bold and modern—Charlie definitely won’t be able to throw dated in her face. Ingrid lets herself imagine for a second what it would be like if they went that direction. “Could they still go to Europe?”
“Sure! Why not? They could even buy a house together!”
Now, there’s an idea. Ingrid remembers an article she read about seven girlfriends in China who bought a mansion to retire and die in together. She always thought that would make a great movie. “What about dating?” Ingrid picks at her salad.
“They could still date! They could have boyfriends! None of that is off the table, but we’re not centering it. I don’t want to watch any more women agonizing over men. Too many tears have been shed over dicks as it is! They don’t deserve the airtime!”
Ingrid lets out a guffaw. She’s with her there.
“We’re centering women. We’re centering friendship. Companionship. Honesty. To me, that’s the next chapter in feminism.”
The more Ingrid thinks about it, the more she likes it.
It’s perfect. She can already see the headlines praising her for thinking of the perfect twist, one that brings Summer Rain into the zeitgeist of today!
She finds herself saying the words “You have to come with me tomorrow morning. I want you to see Rebecca’s face when I pitch her in person! ”
Maggie’s fork falls out of her hand. “Really?”
Ingrid nods, beaming. For all Ingrid’s whining and complaining about getting older, sometimes it’s nice.
To recognize an amazing take when you hear it.
To be able to make that call. To give zero fucks what anyone thinks, because you’ve earned that right.
And this is the best take of them all—she can feel it in her blood.