I’m still pondering my mother-in-law’s choice of such an emotional read as her favorite given how steadfastly she’s avoided the messiness of true emotion for as long as I have known her, when Jazmine’s assistant stands.
“I’ve never been to a book club before, either. I’m not really a big reader if you don’t count the sports pages, but I did love the Harry Potter books and always wished I was as clever and strong as Hermione.” She glances down as if weighing her next words. “I kind of needed a distraction from my real life tonight, so I’m glad that Jazmine invited me.”
Annell beams. “I’m glad all of you are here tonight. And I want to remind everyone that not liking a book doesn’t mean it was a bad book—it just means you didn’t enjoy it. I’m always fascinated by how differently readers react to the same story and characters. How much of ourselves we bring to the experience someone else has crafted.”
With that the conversation begins, pinging from person to person. Tonight, I let the words flow over and around me, like perfectly heated bathwater that both soothes and buoys. I’m pretty much floating until Phoebe brings up the “awful” way Vivian, the main character, lost her virginity but nonetheless fell in love with sex.
“Did anyone have an incredible first experience?” Meena asks. “I mean, everything takes practice, right?”
This elicits some laughter but, mercifully, no actual answers. Once again, I’m drawn inward. Back to my first time with Mitchell. How he treated me as if I were made of spun glass. The joy I felt the first time he told me he loved me. My tears of happiness and relief when he asked me to marry him and I knew, finally, I wouldn’t live my entire life alone.
Dorothy shifts in her seat beside me, and I remember the first time Mitch took me to meet her, right after he proposed. How I assumed our mutual love of him would be a bond and how excited I was to finally have a mother who was not provided by the foster care system, a mother who would love me because I loved her son. Only she always held me at arm’s length, found fault wherever she could, withheld whatever warmth she had to give.
“Well, I thought it was nice to read a story about female promiscuity that didn’t result in death.” There’s a teasing lilt to Dorothy’s voice I’ve never heard before. “I mean, Vivian does end up a lot better off than Anna Karenina.”
I blink at the laughter that follows. My mother-in-law has proven herself to be many things over the years; funny has never been one of them. I look at her face, the smile on her lips. Who is this woman?
“Well, I didn’t understand why a big star like Edna would have stayed married to that young actor who was such a buffoon. And I don’t think she should have been so nasty to Vivian,” Meena says.
The warm bathwater I’ve been floating in turns to ice. “Seriously?” The word slips out before I can stop it. “You think Edna should have just ignored the fact that Vivian and Celia Ray slept with her husband? And everyone knew it? Edna was the injured party after all.”
Dorothy shoots me a cautioning look. As if I should not be raising the subject of infidelity. As if I’m about to cast aspersions on her son. Or let all of those assembled in on the sorry state of my marriage. Mitch’s other life. His children. The beautiful and fertile Margot.
An uncomfortable and slightly confused silence follows.
Annell ends it, steering the conversation in another direction, then keeping it going longer than we ever would have on our own. I begin to relax again—not enough to be warm and floaty, but enough to appreciate the way Annell offers insights and prompts discussion without lecturing or taking over. How she gives me just enough time to rein in my emotions. I do not meet Dorothy’s eyes.
“All right, then.” Annell nods decisively as she draws the discussion to a close. “Any suggestions for our next read?”
Chaz, the EMT, suggests Bill Bryson’s The Body: A Guide for Occupants. Angela McBride proposes Malcolm Gladwell’s Talking to Strangers.
“I originally hoped we might read and discuss 121 First Dates, the book I mentioned last time?” Meena says. “I’m having a blast with online dating. In fact, I’ve met someone pretty special. And I thought you all might enjoy it.”
“I’m on singlegolfers.com,” Nancy Flaherty offers with a swing of her golf tee earrings and a suggestive smile. “It’s a free site, but I’m pretty sure it’s just for players.”
We look at one another, and I know I’m not the only one trying to figure out if this is a double entendre or she’s simply saying that the site is only open to golfers.
“I bet Erin’s got lots of experience swiping left and right and setting up profiles,” Phoebe says.
“I’ve never, um, actually tried online dating.” Erin shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
“Really?” Meena leans forward. “I thought all young people did that today instead of blind dates and that sort of thing.”
Now I wonder if Mitch met Margot online or in person. How long they dated before she got pregnant. Whether he took the job in Birmingham to be with her.
“No. I . . . I’ve only really dated one person.” Erin swallows. “I fell in love with him in elementary school.”
Dorothy sniffs in surprise. Erin blushes.
“Oh. Sorry. I thought you were joking.” This may be the first time I’ve heard Dorothy apologize. Ever. She’s having quite the night.
“We were supposed to get married on New Year’s Day,” Erin continues. “Only . . .”
“Erin, you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to,” Jazmine begins.
“Only he changed his mind.” Erin’s voice is stark and flat.
My eyes tear up. I know what that kind of rejection feels like. The loss. Judith drops her head.
“Wow. That sucks,” Chaz says.
“Big time,” Phoebe adds.
“Yeah.” Carlotta nods. “Men can be real shits. And I’m allowed to say that because I used to be one.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Meena says. “And I totally get that this might not be the right book for us. Especially not right now.” She sends Judith an apologetic smile, and I’m grateful she doesn’t know that what I really need to read right now is a primer on divorce. “So, I withdraw that suggestion. At least for the time being.”
Annell nods in agreement, and I am, as always, comforted by her good sense. “Let’s go with Bill Bryson’s The Body for March. I’ll order copies and let you know when they arrive.”
This elicits a whoop of victory from Chaz.
“And I’ll order copies of the online dating title, too. In case anyone would like to read it,” Annell adds.