Why Does it Taste so Sweet? Read Online Free Page A

rules for making a good impression.
    Emily saw all this over her friend’s shoulder as she stood awkwardly in the living room doorway. Emily had let herself in, making enough noise so that Marcia wouldn’t be startled by her sudden appearance.
    She dropped her two bags at her feet, looked up again, past Marcia, and then finally met her old friend’s look.
    Marcia smiled, falteringly, her features looking even more angular in the light coming through from the living room. After a long pause, she said, “I don’t know what the question is, but I’m guessing wine might be the answer?”
    Emily stepped forward, and then they were in each other’s arms, a brief hug that started off awkward and then, just as they started to pull apart, a second squeeze transformed it into something else. Old times. History. All the times they’d turned to each other support. All the good times, too. That : in a brief, secondary squeeze.
    “I thought you’d never ask,” said Emily, and followed her friend through into the living room.
    §
    “I was drunk,” said Marcia. “That’s no excuse, I know, but it’s how it was, it’s an explanation. It was a work thing, I think. I don’t really remember.”
    Emily didn’t want to know the details about Marcia and Thom, but she had to. They both understood that. If she knew then she could do something with the knowledge. If she didn’t it would fester, fed by all the unanswered questions and doubts.
    “You weren’t there, though. And I didn’t want to be. So there was this guy. I’d been stood up and this guy looked kind of familiar and he brought me a drink. And he said, ‘You don’t even know who I am, do you?’ So I looked at him and then I knew why he looked familiar. He was Thom. He was kind. I hadn’t expected that. He said I looked like I needed some help and he could give me a lift, make sure I was okay. Look... are you sure you want to know?”
    Marcia was the one who was crying, as she sat there clutching her wine glass, sitting forward in her chair.
    Emily nodded. “I need to,” she said.
    “It was pathetic. He drove me home, walked me to my door. Just to be sure I was okay, he said.”
    It had happened here, at Marcia’s place! Of course it had: it had to have happened somewhere.
    “I opened the door and he said would I be okay again and then I kind of grabbed him. It was me. I was drunk and angry with the world and it was pathetic.”
    “It wasn’t just you.”
    Marcia looked down into her drink, then continued. “We did it. He looked just about as embarrassed as I felt. He left. He almost ran. I thought then that it was a one-off. Just something that had happened because of a fluke of circumstances and it had scared him, and if that’s how it was then telling you would just wreck everything, so I kept quiet. But then I asked around, and heard enough stories to know that it had been more than just me, but by then I was already lying to you and covering up and I knew that if I said anything it would all come out. I think that was worse than anything: I couldn’t tell you what he was like. All I could do was watch while your marriage limped on.”
    “I knew what he was like. I just thought he had changed. He hadn’t.”
    “I should have said.”
    “Maybe.”
    “Should have.”
    “Whatever.”
    Marcia glanced up and the two of them held eye contact for just long enough to know that it was going to be okay, the two of them.
    “If it helps at all,” said Marcia, “he didn’t make me come.”
    “Bitch.”
    “Yeah, but your bitch.”
    “Too right.”
    Emily sat back and drained her glass.
    “So how are things with you?” asked Marcia. “Still shagging rock stars?”
    “I am,” said Emily, and now she smiled. “And it’s something I’d recommend.”
    “Things good?”
    She nodded. Things really were good.
    “He called, you know.” For a moment Emily was thrown, thinking that Ray must have called for some reason. Then she realized Marcia had