The Last Supper

Mara watched the water bead on her wine glass, condensation weeping down the curve like tears she refused to cry. Across the table, Clara was still explaining why she'd slept with Mara's husband, her voice annoyingly reasonable, her hands gesturing with that practiced openness she'd always used to deflect responsibility. Clara's palm rested on the white tablecloth, fingers splayed, a manicure Mara had paid for during better times.

'He was lonely,' Clara said, as if loneliness were a vitamin deficiency—something that could be cured with the right supplement. 'You've been so focused on your career. You forgot to nurture the marriage.'

Mara remembered them in college, Clara wild and beautiful with hair like a dark halo, Mara the serious one studying late while Clara partied. They'd made a pact then, written on a cocktail napkin: friends first, always. That napkin was probably still tucked in Mara's jewelry box somewhere, yellowing with age.

'You forgot to mention that I was also busy paying off your credit card debt,' Mara said quietly. 'Remember that? Because I do.'

Clara's face flickered with something—guilt, perhaps, or just annoyance at being reminded of inconvenient history. 'I'm not saying I'm perfect, Mara. But people grow apart. You can't just expect friendship to sustain itself without work.'

The waiter arrived, interrupting them with their plates. The food smelled expensive and hollow. Mara looked at Clara, really looked at her, and realized she didn't recognize this person anymore. Or maybe she'd never truly known her. The Clara of college had been selfish, yes, but authentically so. This Clara was performing a version of herself, carefully curated for maximum sympathy.

'The bill,' Mara said to the waiter, already reaching for her wallet.

'You're leaving?' Clara's voice rose slightly.

Mara stood up. The restaurant hummed around them, conversations and laughter, everyone living their small important lives. She felt light, suddenly, as if something heavy had been cut away.

'Yes,' Mara said. 'I think I am.'

She left Clara there with the appetizers and the excuses and walked out into the warm evening air, finally ready to be alone.