Page 4 of Throwing Shade
“Don’t give up. Forty is the new twenty,” Jude said from my office, once more rooting through my desk drawer.
I reshelved some more law books. “Tell that to the men on the dating site. And why the hell would I want to be twenty again?”
“No aches or sags.”
“True, but I earned my body. I like my body. Though the one thing I do miss from that age? That life was in front of me and I could be anyone.” I tilted my head, lost in contemplation, the book in my hand momentarily forgotten. “Forty isn’t the new twenty, it’s a fast track to invisibility and irrelevancy.”
“You need a new game plan, honey. Quit your job and move to Spain.” Jude shook the bakery bag with the rest of my muffin at me.
“Packing and downsizing would be so much extra work,” I groused, putting the rest of the books away. “Honestly, it’s not so bad here. Most of the time no one micromanages me, plus I wouldn’t have that sweet, sweet health insurance to cover all the therapy my daughter would require for pulling her out of school. My little Hermione Granger does love her structured academic life.”
“Sadie’s adaptable and this job was only supposed to be temporary while you got on your feet after your divorce ten years ago. Go sling sangria.” She held up my tube of lip gloss with a questioning look.
Walking back into my office, I nodded for her to go ahead and use it. “You’re ludicrous. Maybe I just need a purpose. Oh. I could start volunteering.”
She uncapped the tube. “Volunteering is good, but I’m not sure it would fulfill you. You need something that makes you feel powerful.”
I ate the last piece of muffin, talking while chewing. “You mean empowered, and slinging sangria hardly fits the bill.”
“It’s a blurred line. You can’t take control of your life, whether it’s slinging sangria or running for Prime Minister, if you don’t feel like you have the power to do so.”
“That’s free will. Choice.” I peered hopefully into the empty muffin bag, then threw it into the trash.
“And your choices are limited when you don’t think you have power. Thus limiting what you do and any further power you gain.” Judith sniffed the lip gloss and recoiled. “Bubble gum? What are you, twelve?”
“It’s Sadie’s.” I made a new to-do item on my phone to look into volunteering opportunities.
“Like that girl would use any scent other than grape with undertones of smash the patriarchy,” Jude said.
I licked my lips. “Mmmm. Coffee and male tears.”
“Bubble gum lip gloss will not get you laid, my friend.”
“The lip gloss isn’t the cause. It’s been so long that my vagina took early retirement.”
Judith tossed the gloss back in the drawer. “Did she get a nice severance package?”
“Not really. I forgot to buy batteries.”
“That’s it. We’re going for drinks tonight. My treat. You can get loaded and I’ll be your designated.” Jude never drank if we went to the bar on Fridays, since it messed with her ability to wake up early on Saturday morning and get in some pottery time on her successful line of dishware, mugs, and teapots.
“Can’t,” I said. “I’ve got to finish up this research for Blake, then I should go home and spend quality time with my daughter.”
“Your sixteen-year-old won’t begrudge you a night out. Fun, Miri. Remember that?”
I pushed her out of my chair. “I have fun.”
“Is that what we’re calling putting everyone else in your life first and then ending up on the couch in your pjs exhausted from all your emotional labor?”
“Ah, but I chase it down with a lovely vintage.”
Jude scraped at some clay under her nails. “Fun isn’t a trendy abbreviation for functioning alcoholism.”
“Another time. I promise.”
Jude bit her lip, eyes troubled and downcast.
“What?”
