Page 156 of The Havenport Collection

Maggie

I t was meditation night, which was not my favorite activity. But my mother and sister tended to drag me against my will.

One net positive of Josh’s unemployment was that he had taken over much of the management of the kids and the house over the last six months.

He coordinated getting our heating system serviced, took care of the teachers’ holiday gifts, and contributed nut-free brownies to the school parties.

For years, I had shouldered all the burden myself, always juggling and living with the constant stress of dropping a ball.

But now, despite my crazy work schedule, I could make time for meditation, regardless of how pointless I generally found it.

No matter how much data I read about the benefits, or how many times I tried, I could not quiet my brain.

The mental load I carried was too great.

I had employees to supervise, patients to help, kids to raise, groceries to buy, and I knew damn well the mountain of laundry wasn’t going to fold itself.

Self-care wasn’t even close to being on my radar. And despite my mother’s protests, my version of self-care looked a lot more like gelato and watching Housewives than meditating and chanting.

My mother was a well-meaning tornado wrapped in a hippy-dippy, middle-aged lady package.

Many people were fooled by the scarves, the waist-length hair, and her aversion to wearing shoes, but I’d learned from an early age not to mess with Grace Leary.

She had taught kindergarten in Havenport for thirty years before retiring to become the town’s most in-demand volunteer.

When Cece and I were growing up, she ran a tight ship—that ship just happened to involve yoga, kale, and lots of discussions about astrology.

Cece, a former skeptic turned lovesick fool, had fully drunk the Kool-Aid and was now a regular fixture at meditation group.

After high school, she headed to New York.

I’d missed her, but I understood her desire to do her own thing.

Havenport was a wonderful place, but every square mile of it was filled with memories of our dad.

For me, there was nowhere else I wanted to live, but in order to heal, she’d needed to get away.

It had been a bit of a shock when she showed up here last year, fell in love with Liam, and stayed.

It took a while, but we revived our sister bond.

She had been a stalwart support while I was going through my separation with Josh—encouraging me, helping out with my kids, and keeping my busybody mother preoccupied with her wedding.

I loved her and I owed her, which was why I’d agreed to come with her tonight.

The location of the meditation group varied.

Tonight we were at Burt’s house. Burt was our former mayor and Havenport’s unofficial mascot.

He lived a few doors down from my mother, in a large Federalist-style mansion on High Street.

Like my mother’s home, it was a historic property built by a shipping magnate in the early nineteenth century.

In contrast, it had been painstakingly restored and refinished to its historic glory.

Upon arrival, he greeted us with his yorkie, Coco Chanel, tucked under his arm and led us through several sets of antique French doors to what he called the solarium .

It was a large room with a glass ceiling and was filled with plants, colorful furniture, and half the town, apparently.

“Grab a cushion and help yourself to champagne,” he said, gesturing toward the bar built into one wall.

When we had settled with our purple meditation cushions and sipped champagne, Cece elbowed me and whispered, “I told you it was worth coming tonight.”

I nodded. I loved historic design, and this house was something directly out of an issue of Architectural Digest . I was already feeling more relaxed and ready to give meditation another try.

Until I caught sight of some of the late arrivals.

Moira Cunningham and Whitney Sloane. I groaned.

Cece elbowed me and shot daggers at them as they walked past with their cushions.

I had despised Moira when she’d tortured me in high school, and even more so since she had flirted with Josh last week at the Whale.

My blood pressure rose. What was her problem? I was a good person. I volunteered, paid my taxes, and dutifully attended town festivals. Why did she have to keep tearing me down?

Cece clamped a hand on my elbow before I could move and pulled me back. “Slow down, Maggie,” she said, giving me a knowing look. “Let it go. That’s why you’re here. To relax and get out of your head.”

But I couldn’t get it out of my head. It was all too much.

I glared at Moira, who gave me a smug smile while sipping her champagne.

Every single day I was pulled in so many directions that tiny pieces of myself broke off and floated away.

I juggled and danced and stood on my head to be all things for all people all the time.

And this bitch had the audacity to not only judge me but mock me?

I didn’t know what had come over me recently. All my life, I’d been cool and impassive. I wasn’t hotheaded; I never shouted. The sight of my childhood bully rarely bothered me, but tonight I was seeing red.

Things had been unraveling for a while now. The perfect facade I worked so hard to preserve was crumbling right in front of me.

Emily put her arm around me and whispered, “What if I accidentally fall out of my downward dog and crush her? I could snap her in half.”

I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress a laugh.

“We’re meditating, not doing yoga,” Astrid chided.

“Eh. I’ll just pretend I forgot. I’m eccentric. I can get away with that shit.” Emily drained her champagne glass and popped up in search of another.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to calm my racing heart.

Why was I here? What was I even doing? Things were so hard right now, and sitting quietly with half the town wasn’t going to fix anything.

My eyes welled with tears, but I squeezed them shut, desperate to repress whatever emotions were bubbling to the surface.

I used to be so good at this. But the longer I lived without Josh, the harder it became.

I couldn’t pretend anymore. I couldn’t avoid and deflect.

It was time to face the very real problems in my life.

I slowly opened my eyes when I felt a nudge and found Nora and Emily standing in front of me.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Nora said in a loud whisper that attracted several dirty looks.

Not wanting to spend another minute in this room, I hopped up and grabbed my purse, pulling my sister along with me.

By the time we made it to the sidewalk, we were giggling uncontrollably. “You should have let me take her out,” Emily whined. “These birthing hips have got to be good for something,” she said, gesturing at herself.

Astrid put her arm around Emily’s shoulders. “Next time, Em. Next time you can hip check her into New Hampshire.”

I smiled, the tears finally drying. I loved these women. They could read me and knew I needed to get out of there.

“Let’s go to my store,” Nora said. “I’ve got alcohol and snacks.”

We made our way through town, laughing and chatting before finally arriving at Nora’s store, Jeanius Bar, and raiding her stash of snacks.

The shop was a luxurious escape on a good day, all chandeliers and plush furniture juxtaposed against an industrial backdrop.

But she had clearly stepped things up recently.

The entire store was filled with greenery, shades of pink ribbons, and golden angels.

In the front window, there was a hot-pink tree wrapped in an ornate denim garland.

“You like?” she said, gesturing to the decorations and throwing a pink polka-dot throw pillow at Astrid.

“Looks incredible,” Cece said. “Where did you find all the pink decorations?”

Nora patted her head. “The Internet, darling. Now, let’s get focused.” She handed a bag of truffled popcorn to Astrid and poured wine into a paper cup. “I’ve never seen you like this, Mags.”

“Like what?” I asked defensively. I held out my paper cup to Emily, who’d taken the bottle from Nora.

“Like you’re out of fucks to give,” she reputed. “I like it. You’re usually so repressed.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said, throwing popcorn at her. I reclined on the fuchsia sofa and took a moment to examine the ornate vintage chandelier hanging above. “I don’t know. I’m just not okay. Things are hard at work and at home and with Josh.”

Cece squeezed my shoulder. “We’re here for you.”

I smiled. My life may have been a mess, but I had been blessed with some of the most loyal, amazing friends a girl could ask for. But I was usually the one lending a sympathetic ear, not the one in need to support.

“How is couple’s therapy going?” Emily asked.

Normally I would be appalled by such a personal question, but the more time I spent with the coven, the more I appreciated that true friendship required vulnerability and honesty.

I took a deep breath and told the truth.

“It’s really hard, and I kind of hate it.

But it’s also helpful. Josh is taking it so seriously—it’s a bit shocking.

He’s all open and willing to talk things through and take responsibility.

It’s a little jarring, and I’m still wrapping my mind around it all. ”

“I’m proud of you, Maggie,” Cece said, giving me an encouraging smile.

“Thanks. It’s difficult for me to talk about this stuff. But I appreciate how hard Josh is trying. He’s totally committed to making our marriage work.”

“That’s great news.”

“So he’s not working at the hospital at all?”

“Nope. His fellowship ended over the summer, and he’s been unemployed since.

He claims he’s working on himself. It’s been great, actually.

He’s around to help with the kids, and he runs errands, cooks dinner, and helps with homework.

Things have been crazy for me at the clinic, so it’s been a huge help. ”

“Have you told him? That he’s been a huge help?” Astrid asked in her cross-examination tone.

I choked on my wine and grabbed a napkin to mop myself up. “Well, no,” I replied. “I guess I haven’t.”

When I looked up, several sets of raised eyebrows were directed my way. My friends were supportive and loving, but seldom let me get away with anything.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m still processing, but I’ll tell him everything.

” I wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts or voicing my feelings all the time.

Careful and cautious were more my style.

I took my time, made deliberate plans, and then executed them with precision.

I wasn’t an emotionally driven, fly by the seat of my pants woman.

We had been together for seventeen years and married for thirteen.

There had been good times, bad times and truly amazing times.

But at some point, the bad outweighed the good, and the amazing moments disappeared.

I had started going through the motions, and I was still coming to terms with that.

Josh’s commitment to fixing things was incredible, but I still had to reconcile the role that I had played.

I took another handful of popcorn and thought for a few minutes.

“So what happens next?” Nora asked.

I shrugged. “There is no playbook for how to repair your shitty marriage.”

“It sounds to me like you’re already doing it,” Emily said. “You’re doing the work, and it’s hard, but we believe in you.”

Tears sprang to my eyes again. I loved these ladies. “I hope so.” I sniffled. “I miss him so much.”

And then I was wrapped up in several sets of arms. First Emily, and then Cece, Nora, and Astrid.

We sat there for a few moments, piled on top of one another in a group hug. So much love and support poured out in that moment that I couldn’t help but cry. “I love you guys,” I hiccupped.

“We’re rooting for you, Maggie. But take all the time you need,” Astrid said.

Nora snorted. “And if he fucks up again, we’ll break his legs.”