“No, no, I’m not mad. It’s sad. I wish she’d known she could trust me, and I should have been trustworthy not to blow the whole thing up because she didn’t want what I wanted. And I should have done what was right for me. If I had…”

It hangs between us all.

Jenny reaches across the table and puts a hand around my wrist. “It’s not your fault, Meggie.”

A sudden howl of emotion races through me like a wicked wind as I look at her, see that she means it, and then burst into sobs that feel so deeply rocking that they scrape against my insides and threaten to burst me like a balloon.

But I’m there with our moms. They’re making sympathetic sounds of understanding and my mom’s hand is on my back, moving in slow circles, and Jenny is holding my hands and not pulling back as I grip her as tightly as you might a cliff face if you were suspended a hundred yards in the air with no rope.

I cry, and I cry. I sound like a child, I sound like an animal. I can’t breathe, my stomach aches and cramps, my chest threatens to crack, my face swells like I’m seconds away from anaphylactic shock.

And then, eventually, like the ocean eventually does after even the worst tsunami, my waves begin to calm. From tidal swells to soft ripples against the shore. I have this sense of certainty that I had finally touched the bottom of the emotion. I now know the depth of my pain and, finally, I can begin swimming toward the surface. I never need to go that far again.

I can eventually breathe.

They even eventually make me laugh.

When all has settled again, Jenny sniffs and bites her bottom lip. “Maybe I’m a hopeful mom who misses her daughter”—she smiles bravely through the tears—“but it makes me feel good to imagine she’s out there somewhere. Leading a different life.”

My mom says, “It’s a big, unknowable universe, isn’t it?” She gives Jenny a squeeze on the arm and says, “I think it might be time for another round of margaritas.”

On the Uber ride home that night, I say, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” asks my mom.

“For trying to get you to leave Florida. It’s none of my business to tell you where your place is. I’m sorry I tried to.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I know. Thank you for saying something. I appreciate it. I really am happy here. I have everything I need.”