Page 64 of Nash
"You won," Maggie says. Quiet. Definitive. Darla's eyes go bright for a second.
At seven-thirty exactly, Candace lifts her glass. "The ban is lifted. Men are now allowed in conversation."
Frankie looks up from the floor. "We've been talking about men for the last twenty minutes."
"We've been talking about pregnancies and bad dates," Candace says. "That's different."
"Every story had a man in it," Frankie says.
"Technicality," Candace says.
Frankie's mouth curves. "Sloane's story was about Knox. Darla's was about East. Yours was about Malachi."
"Those were stories about US that happened to INVOLVE men," Candace says. "The men were supporting characters."
"The men were the whole plot." Frankie is grinning now, which on Frankie is devastating.
"We made it two minutes," I say. "Honestly I'm proud of us."
Candace points at her. "The ban is lifted. Moving on. Before Frankie audits the entire conversation."
"Thank god," Darla says. "I've been holding in a complaint about East's snoring for twenty-eight minutes. Allegedly."
"His snoring?" Sloane asks.
"It's structural. Load-bearing. I'm convinced it supports the foundation of the house."
The conversation opens up. Sloane talks about Knox's inability to admit he likes the goat. Candace tells a story about Malachi singing in the shower that makes Amelia choke on her wine.
"Maggie." I pull my legs up under me on the couch. "How did you and James meet? You never tell the story."
Maggie looks at her cake like it holds the answer. "I was working the front desk at the VA clinic in Oxford. He came in for a follow-up. Sat in the waiting room for two hours without saying a word. Read the same magazine three times." She pauses. "I finally walked over and said, 'Sir, that's a six-month-old copy of Better Homes and Gardens. Either you're very interested in fall centerpieces or you're stalling.'"
"What did he do?" Amelia asks.
"He looked at me over the top of the magazine and said, 'I was waiting for you to come talk to me.'"
Darla makes a sound like she's been shot. Candace grabs her arm.
"After that, he started bringing me hydrangeas. Every Tuesday. Same flowers. Same time. He never said why." Maggie smiles. "On the seventh month, I opened the door and said, 'James, either ask me to dinner or stop wasting good hydrangeas.'"
"What did he say?" Amelia asks.
"He said, 'I was going to ask on month twelve. You're impatient.'"
The room holds for a beat. Then Darla's chin wobbles. Her eyes fill. She presses both hands over her mouth, and the sob that comes out is loud enough to startle the goat outside.
"Darla," Candace says, laughing.
"I'm not crying. I'm HORMONAL. That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard, and I'm going to KILL East for not bringing me hydrangeas for twelve months."
"He brought you cold spaghetti in chocolate syrup," Sloane says.
"IT'S NOT THE SAME, SLOANE."
Sloane grabs a pillow and throws it at Darla. Darla catches it, holds it against her belly, and keeps crying into it. Candace is doubled over. Amelia is wiping her eyes. Frankie lifts her glass in Maggie's direction.
"Twelve months of hydrangeas," Frankie says. "James doesn't do anything halfway."
