Happy After All

by Maisey Yates

“We’re past the age of caring what anyone thinks,” Gladys says. “I want that,” I say. “I want to bottle that and make it mine.” “Sorry, dear,” says Gladys. “I think it’s a thing that takes time, gray hair, wrinkles, heartbreaks, and all kinds of moments when you cared too much. Then one day you realize . . . it never got you anywhere you wanted to go. The people who only want you when you bend and twist to suit them don’t stay anyway, and the ones who want you as you are settle in, and so do you.”

“Whatever you want, or whatever you don’t want, own it. Just don’t put it on me. Don’t hold yourself back from me under the guise of protecting me, when you have no idea what I’ve protected myself from. I’m strong enough. The idea that you think you could break me with, what . . . your penis? That’s hilarious. If you don’t want to sleep with me, that’s fine. Don’t pretend it’s an act of chivalry.

We fall into step as we make our way up the narrow, rocky path. “Watch for snakes,” I say. “But not armadillos.” “There are no armadillos here,” he says. “Obviously, Nathan, that’s why you don’t have to watch for them.”

“There really is nothing like girl dinner,” I say. He lifts his brow. “And that is?” “Having little bits of everything you might want. A great, eclectic triumph. A symphony of taste. Girl dinner is art. Sometimes it’s Ritz crackers and cheese, but it’s actually one of my very favorite things about being single. The ability to just have a meal that’s pieces of everything.”