‘I heard there’s a Bloody Mary here,’ one woman confided conspiratorially to her friend. At the sound of the phrase, I startled. Someone bad. A traitor. Bloody Mary.
‘What did you say?’ I asked, my hands beginning to tremble. My tone was harsher than I had intended.
‘That’s right.’ Andrea swooped in, overhearing us. ‘We’re having a Bloody Mary bar with brunch tomorrow. Mimosas too – mango and pomegranate, for those among us who aren’t expecting. And more mocktails. You’re in for a treat.’ She turned to me, smiling. ‘Mae? Are you okay?’
I nodded, my fingers clasped so tightly around the stem of my water glass I feared the glass might break. How stupid I’d been. How skittish, in these women’s company. Andrea crossed the room to chat up another guest, and when she glanced my way a minute l
