Free Truly (New York Trilogy #1) by Ruthie Knox

another glass. Anya was still talking.
    “—so romantic, when you two are together. And you look good together, too, with all that blond hair, and so tall. I always thought you’d have the most beautiful children, and—”
    “Sweetie?” May said, interrupting. “It’s all right.”
    “You’re so brave.”
    May put the wineglass between her eyes and rolled it back and forth. The cool, smooth pressure felt good. “Can we leave the subject of Dan for the moment and talk about why I called?”
    “Of course! What do you need? You know we’re here for you.”
    “If I could borrow a credit card number, that would be great. Just in case. I have a room for tonight, but I’m not sure what it’s going to take to get home … I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
    “I know you’re good for it. Hold on, let me go get my purse. I left it with Beth.”
    The background noise got louder again, and then after a few moments Anya said, “Have you got a pen?”
    “Wait a sec.”
    Ben was already up, rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He returned with a take-out menu and a Bic.
    “I’m ready,” she said.
    “Okay, here goes.” Anya rattled off the numbers, and May wrote them down. It took a few more minutes for her to assure her friend that everything was fine, and then another few to get her off the phone.
    It didn’t occur to Anya to ask her where she was staying. But everyone she’d left a message with would be at the bachelorette party, and Anya would definitely tell them all what had happened.
    “What’s wrong?” Ben asked.
    “She’s going to tell everybody I know. And then they’re all going to call. Drunk.”
    He plucked the phone from her hand and turned it off. “Problem solved.”
    “I’ll have to face the music sooner or later.”
    “You don’t have to face anything you don’t want to tonight.”
    She thought of her friends calling and getting no answer. Her family up at the cabin, wondering how she was doing. Or possibly upset with her for not calling yesterday afternoon or this morning. For hiding out with her phone turned off.
    It had seemed better, more fitting, to encase herself in silence. To lie awake most of the night next to Dan, wondering what she’d done and what she was about to do.
    “They’ll worry about me.”
    “Not your problem.”
    An intriguing thought. She lifted her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
    When their goblets clinked together, his toast back at Pulvermacher’s came to her.
Cheers, then. I can’t fucking stand Einarsson
.
    How liberating it must be to be able to say whatever you wanted that way. To be rude without guilt—without even obvious awareness. How did someone get to be that way? If she asked him, would he teach her?
    He settled back into the couch, and she kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet under her butt, leaning her head on the cushion as the wine wove its way into her bloodstream. Her toes were cold, her blood warm, her hair tangled from walking so many blocks today in the wind. She felt gritty and sleepy, but somehow cocooned from having to worry too deeply about it. Ben had turned off the phone and absolved her of responsibility for one night.
    “Why bees?” she asked.
    “Why not bees?”
    “Oh, I can think of some reasons why not.”
    He sipped his wine, which was disappearing at a much more reasonable rate than hers. She wondered if she was guzzling something precious and expensive.
    Probably not. Beekeepers couldn’t possibly earn much more than dishwashers.
    When she’d nearly given up on getting a real answer, he said, “I like them. They’re calming.”
    “Bees are calming? The little buzzing guys with the stingers?”
    “They don’t sting much. If you don’t disturb them, they’re too busy living and working to bother stinging. They’re … purposeful. Dispassionate.”
    “Very Zen.”
    “Yes.”
    She considered that. “Busy buzzing bees,” she said, and then covered her mouth with her hand, because she sounded a