Patti joins me at the table. She cuts herself a small sliver of pâté and spreads it on a cracker. “You do have that top, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so.”
Patti takes a teeny bite of her pâté and cracker. “You know, she’s just jealous of you, Taylor. You’ve got it all—”
“My life isn’t always what it seems.”
“No, but it is pretty damn nice. Nathan is yummy. You have a brilliant marriage, and you live this beautiful, picture-perfect life on the lake with three picture-perfect children.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” I nibble on a grape. “Patti, do my teeth look like that?”
Patti stares at Monica a long moment before bursting into a fit of giggles. “Oh. My. God. What did she do?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not good.”
“No.” Patti’s giggles subside. Her expression turns sober. “Do you think she knows they’re way too big?”
“I just don’t know why she did it. Her teeth were fine before.” I sigh, suddenly exhausted by what we do to ourselves and how we try to impress. “Sometimes this is all too much. Too much work. Too much stress.”
“What are you saying? That being Taylor Young is hard work?”
“Doesn’t it ever seem like hard work to you?”
“Of course. But that’s just life. Life is hard, don’t you think? Now get your book and let’s snag the couch before anyone else does.”
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the book discussion tonight is actually interesting for a change.
I don’t know if it’s the copious amount of wine we’re consuming or because Marta’s sitting in tonight, but everyone participates, although I tend to once again be the dissenting voice. The Memory Keeper’s Daughter is an unqualified hit. Except with me.
“I loved the opening,” I explain, “and the first third seemed to move along all right, but then it just started to drag. I needed more character development. I needed change.”
“There was change,” Suze defended, “near the end where he helps that poor pregnant girl.”
“After she untied him?” I shake my head. “I think that’s when I stopped reading. It was too much. I couldn’t suspend disbelief. Deliver your own baby, give away one child, keep a secret, don’t confront your wife about her affair, but please, don’t get tied up in a shanty shack in the South.”
My words are met by a torrent of protests and comments. Shaking my hair back, I catch Marta’s eye. I could almost swear she’s smiling. At me.
Or maybe she’s laughing at me.
Probably laughing at me. Oh, I don’t care. It was a good book but not my favorite book, and I don’t have to pretend to love it just to get everyone’s approval.
A half hour later, the meeting is at an end. “You’re picking next month’s book, Lucy,” Raine says, wrapping things up. “Do you have a title selected yet?”
Lucy nods and reaches into her purse and shyly pulls out a hardcover book. “The Feminine Mistake by Leslie Bennetts.”
“No!” Suze groans. “No, no, no.”
“I don’t want to read that book,” Monica adds flatly, “I’ve read enough on it already to know I definitely don’t want it to be our book club pick.”
“Why not?” Lucy asks nervously, putting the book on her lap and hiding the cover with her hands. “I thought Taylor had a good idea when she said we should read some nonfiction this year.”
“Memoirs, yes, but not feminist rhetoric,” Monica answers sourly.
Marta’s eyebrow rises, and she leans forward. “So you’ve read the book, then?”
Monica’s shoulders square. “No, but I don’t need to read it. I’ve heard all about it, and I’m sick of the Far Left attacking traditional family values—”
“It has nothing to do with family values,” Marta interrupts. “It’s about financial self-sufficiency.”
“But it’s a moot point for most of us,” Suze protests. “Our husbands might be the breadwinners, but we make most of the decisions for the family—”
“Including financial?” Ellen interrupts.
“Not necessarily financial, but we’re equal partners,” Suze answers defensively. “We have our own division of labor.”
“Which you don’t get paid for,” Ellen adds.
Suze shuts her mouth, shakes her head.
“If it’s a really controversial book,” Raine speaks softly, “maybe we don’t want to read it. We have enough problems in life without adding to it.”
Lucy sighs. “I don’t want to force you to read a book you don’t want to read, but I do think it’d be interesting. We could see for ourselves what the fuss is about. We’d be better informed about hot topics, too.”
Suze looks increasingly unhappy. “I don’t like hot topics. I don’t like negativity. I want to focus on positive things—”
“But aren’t the books we’re reading depressing?” I can’t help interrupting. “Every one of the novels on this year’s list is about tragedy and dysfunction.”
“But they’re well written,” Monica protests.
“And so is nonfiction,” Marta says. “And isn’t being informed a positive thing?”
“Yes,” I say firmly, reaching for the book and looking at the cover, surprised to hear myself agreeing with Marta.
Patti nods. “I say yes, too.”
Jen and Kate are two more yeses. Marta doesn’t cast a vote, which makes Monica anxious. “Do you think you’ll want to come back?” she asks Marta.
“Probably not,” Marta answers honestly.
Monica is cr
estfallen. “Why not?”
“It’s not really my . . . thing.”
Monica’s even more perplexed. “But why not? You told me you read all the time.”
“Yes, but this . . .” Marta glances around the circle. “It’s not . . . me. It’s a little too Stepford wife for my taste.”
Suze gasps. Kate’s surprised. Monica’s beyond flustered. “It’s not a Stepford wife book club. We’ve all been to college, and we’ve all had careers—”
“Good, then reading controversial books shouldn’t be upsetting.”
“So The Feminine Mistake it is,” Jen says brightly, bringing the meeting to a close. “Kate hosts next month. See you in November.”
Patti doesn’t even wait until she’s backed out of Jen’s drive to drop the bomb on me. “We’re moving,” she says bluntly, heading east on 8th Street. “Don’s been hired by a Bay Area investment firm, and they’ve asked him to start November first. He’ll start soon, and then we’ll move around Thanksgiving.”
I’m stunned. It’s the last thing I expected her to say. “I can’t believe it.”
“Don and I are both native Californians. We like it here and all three of our children were born here, but our families are in California, and to be honest, we miss the weather. We miss the sun.” She looks at me. “And California’s not that far. We’ll still see you. You and Nathan will just have to pop down for the weekend, do some fun weekend trips like wine tasting in Napa or golfing at Pebble Beach.”
I can’t even imagine life here without Patti. She’s been here as long as I have. “I can’t believe it,” I repeat numbly.
“I’m still kind of in shock, too. We’ve been really happy here, and while Don’s from the Bay Area, I don’t know anyone there. I’m nervous about starting over, trying to fit in, but this is a good move for Don and there’s no way I could let him move without us. We need to be together.”
Every word she says is a knife in my heart. This is how I should have been with Nathan. This is how I should have reacted. Great, Nathan, I’m excited by the opportunity. I’ve always wanted to live in Omaha. . . .
“How’s the cost of living?” I ask tentatively.