Long Live the Queen Read Online Free Page A

nice.”
    â€œWell, just help yourself,” she said.
    They followed her out to the bedroom, where Meg’s father had just turned on the Red Sox game.

    And, damn it, Detroit was winning 6 to 3 in the top of the seventh. “So, that’s why you’re home early,” Meg said.
    Her mother nodded. “It was, perhaps, a factor.”
    â€œI don’t suppose I’ll ask what you all were doing in the closet,” her father said, concentrating on the television.
    â€œThe key question is, what were we all doing coming out ,” Meg said, quite amused—as was generally the case—by herself. A serious character flaw, no doubt.
    â€œActually,” Josh said, “we were just about to go upstairs and watch a movie.”
    Meg nodded. “That’s right, we sure were. Do you guys want to, too?”
    â€œNo, thanks,” her father said, hanging his dinner jacket over the back of a chair and sitting down to watch the game.
    Her mother shook her head, too, indicating her desk, and the piles of papers and reports and briefing books. “No, thank you. If your brothers are up there, though, please tell them we’re home.”
    Predictably, her brothers were in the solarium, and Steven was in a foul mood, because during the time it had taken them to walk upstairs, Detroit had scored two more runs. Meg kind of wanted to watch the rest of the game, but when—in short order—Boston fell behind 11-3, she and Josh went down to the Washington Sitting Room, instead. It was part of a third-floor bedroom suite, but not an actual bedroom, so she was still technically adhering to the letter of her parents’ law.
    Which didn’t change the fact that they were having trouble making eye contact. The fact that they had fooled around pretty intensely, more than once, in the adjoining bedroom made everything seem just that much more awkward.
    Meg broke the silence. “Want me to sing, ‘I’m Coming Out’?”
    Josh laughed. “Not really.”
    â€œI do it really nicely,” she said. “Dulcet tones, people say.”
    He laughed again.

    â€œNo one takes me seriously,” she said.
    â€œGee, wonder why,” he said, and sat down on the red-and-white upholstered couch.
    After a minute, she sat next to—but, not right next to—him, and they didn’t speak for a while.
    â€œThis is pretty hard, Meg,” he said.
    She nodded. “Would you, um,” she didn’t look at him, “feel better not seeing me at all ?”
    â€œNo,” he said. Instantly.
    Good. “I don’t want that, either,” she said.
    It was quiet again.
    â€œWhy can’t we just wait until September?” he asked. “And then, you know, go away to school.”
    They had already had this conversation about thirty times, without making much progress. Maybe she should have allowed it to happen that way—just let them drift apart, never initiating any sort of discussion about it, taking advantage of the fact that he was going all the way out to Stanford, and that they wouldn’t have to worry about running into each other. But, she’d felt him getting more and more involved, while she—it hadn’t seemed fair. She still wondered whether breaking up had been such a great idea, but it wouldn’t have been right to pretend that—she sighed.
    â€œI need you as a friend,” she said. “I need you more as a friend.”
    He nodded. Unhappily.
    And now, they had reached the usual impasse.
    â€œI need you as a friend, too,” he said. “I’m just—it’s hard.”
    Yeah. She wanted to touch his hair, or hold his hand, or something, but wasn’t sure if she should.
    â€œIs it okay if I put my arm around you?” he asked.
    â€œI’d like that,” she said. “I’d like that a lot.”

3
    ON TUESDAY AFTERNOON, she played tennis with the Associate Deputy Secretary of