Thirty-Eight
Jazmine
I’m not sure where May has gone, but as of today I am now officially thirty-six years old. Maya serves me a cup of coffee and a cupcake with a candle in it for breakfast in bed, then grabs my phone to FaceTime Thea so they can sing “Happy Birthday” to me together, with Jamal chiming in. After I blow out the candle, Maya races off to get dressed. Jamal departs for work. Thea gives me grief about dumping Derrick Warren.
“I didn’t dump him. I just told him that I didn’t think we were a good fit.”
“A good fit? The man is not a pair of jeans. I cannot believe you are not interested in him.”
“I told you, Thee. He’s a great guy, and I’m sure he’ll make some woman very happy. It’s just not going to be me. You can’t manufacture chemistry.”
“Monsanto does. You could if you wanted to.”
I take a bite of my cupcake and chew carefully. Then I take a sip of coffee.
“I see you rolling your eyes at me,” Thea says. “I do not understand how you can not feel some serious movement of the earth with a kind, gentle, and fine-looking black man like that. She cocks her head. “It’s that Rich Handsome, isn’t it?”
“It’s Hanson, and no, it doesn’t have anything to do with him.” Because I will not let it. Because one great night does not make a relationship. And because even if it did, having a relationship with a person you work with on a daily basis cannot be a good idea.
Thea has quite a lot to say about the size of the mistake I’m making. When she finally pauses to draw breath, I slap a smile on my face, wave merrily, and say, “Gotta run! See you at Mama and Daddy’s on Sunday!”
“Wait, I’m not . . .”
I’m sure I’ll hear the rest of this on Sunday, but I can’t listen to it right now. Tonight, I’ll get to celebrate my birthday at book club, where we’ll eat cake and discuss my favorite book of all time. All I have to do is get through this day without crossing paths with Rich. I have always prided myself on being clear and straightforward. Pretending that I didn’t and never again want to sleep with him feels inherently dishonest.
At the office, another cupcake waits on my desk. “Thanks for everything, boss,” Erin says after she sings “Happy Birthday” to me. “Working with you is a great adventure. Oh, and, uh, Rich said he needs to see you.”
“No. That’s not going to happen today,” I say as a knock sounds on my office door.
Erin and I look up.
“Sorry,” she whispers, even though she doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“No,” I smile and whisper, trying not to move my lips. “Go tell him I’m busy. Don’t make me call Louise and beg her to come back.”
I give her my steeliest look, but it doesn’t seem to be working. I blame it on the icing I’m licking off my lips.
“He just wants to wish you a happy birthday.” She smiles brightly.
“Fine.” I raise my hand and wave him in. “But if you ever get confused about who you work for again, you won’t have a job.”
“Right, boss.” She turns, nodding, and possibly winking, at Rich as they pass.
“Happy birthday.” He smiles, places a tiny bakery box on my desk, then takes a seat. “It’s a cupcake. But I see you’re already wearing one.” He points to the other corner of my mouth. Then he pulls a tissue out of the box on my desk and hands it to me.
“Thank you.” I dab where he’s pointing. Exposing my tongue while he’s nearby seems foolhardy. “How can I help you?”
“Actually, there are a few things I’d like to clear up.” His tone turns serious as he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
“O . . . kay.” His discomfort just adds to mine. I make myself wait while he gathers himself.
“You seem to think that I’m some sort of party guy. That I sleep around and date indiscriminately.” He looks me in the eye. I’m not sure what he’s waiting for.
“Um-hmmm.”
“Well, I wanted to make sure that you know that’s not true.” His eyes do that thing where they turn kind of amber. It’s almost as if he’s willing me to see something, only I don’t know what.
“Listen, I know you’re just trying to make our sleeping together seem less . . . awkward,” I say. “Which is really kind of awkward in itself.”
His eyes are pinned to mine, but he doesn’t interrupt. I can’t seem to look away.
“But it doesn’t matter because it won’t be happening again. And we did agree to pretend like it never happened. So, I’m not sure talking about it is going to be helpful.”
He’s still watching. Waiting. I’m just not sure for what.
“So, I’m thinking that since we’re doing what we agreed, we’re good. Right?”
“Right,” he says. “I mean . . . we are good . . . together. Better than good. So, I’ve decided I just need to be honest here. About myself. And my marriage.”
Between the looks he’s giving me and the discomfort I feel, I can’t think of a single thing to say.
“When I told you about my daughter and you asked if I was married, I . . . I left a few things out.”
My stomach drops. “Oh?”
“I pretty much never talk about my wife because . . .”
I brace for some ugly divorce story. Complaints about how she didn’t understand him. How she “took him to the cleaners” or tried to poison his daughter against him.
But what he says is, “It’s my fault she’s dead.” He stops and closes his eyes, opens them.
When I don’t speak, mostly because I have no idea what to say, he continues, “We were on our way home from picking out baby furniture for the nursery. She’d chosen this beautiful crib that cost what felt like a fortune at the time, but she’d just fallen completely in love with it, you know?” He swallows. His smile is a painful thing. “I remember she couldn’t wait to be a mother. I was kind of freaked about the responsibility, the cost, the way our life was going to change, but Amelia was over the moon about it. She had this incredible glow, practically from the moment she found out she was pregnant.”
I brace again because it’s clear that whatever’s coming is going to be hard to hear.
“I had leaned over to kiss her. I only took my eyes off the road for like a second, but when I looked up, this car was coming straight at us going the wrong way. It hit us almost head-on.”
His eyes cloud with memory. “I barely had a scratch. Amelia didn’t make it. But they managed to save Amy.”
“Oh.” I stare at him, trying to absorb the tragedy and pain that plays out on his face. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard even a hint of this.”
“That’s because I don’t talk about it. I was twenty-four when it happened. And not the most mature twenty-four. I was just starting out in a field that required lots of travel and crazy hours, and . . . it took a long time to even start to get over it. Fortunately, Amy’s grandparents on both sides stayed involved.”
My eyes blur with tears. I know exactly what that kind of loss feels like.
“As you know, even with family nearby, being a single parent of a newborn is totally overwhelming. Add in the grief and the guilt, and . . . all I could think about was making it up to my daughter. That’s what drove me to sign the biggest names, climb the ladder as fast as I could, and make the most money. Sometimes I’ve cut corners and been more ruthless than I should have been. I have poached other agents’ clients. As if money and success would somehow fill the void of the mother I took from her.” He hesitates. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because all this time I had no idea who you were or what you’d been through.” I blink back tears.
“It’s not the sort of thing you just bring up in conversation or mention at a meeting or during happy hour. I’ve always respected the way you handle yourself and your clients. And given your own loss and your . . . Maya . . . I knew you’d understand how huge a part of my life my daughter is.”
I stare into Rich’s eyes. I’ve judged him so harshly, having no idea we’d walked in each other’s shoes.
“My point is, I’m about as far from a notcher/player as it’s possible to get.” He pauses once again. “I haven’t felt this kind of connection since . . . since Amelia died. And I’m fairly certain you feel it, too.”
I continue to stare into Rich’s eyes, shocked at the honest emotion I am only now recognizing in them. Moved by the courage he’s just shown when I, who have always prided myself on telling the truth and doing the right thing, have worked so hard to hide my feelings even from myself.
He leans across the desk. “So, here’s the thing. If you really want to pretend there’s nothing between us, I’ll do my best. But it won’t be easy. Because that’s the total opposite of what I want.”
I lean forward and meld my lips to his. It’s a long, thorough kiss meant to convey all the things I can’t bring myself to say. When it finally ends, both of us are smiling.
“I’m glad you shared your story with me.” I swipe at a stray tear.
“Me, too.” His smile gets bigger. “But there is one more thing.”
“Really? Because as much as it means to me that you’ve taken me into your confidence, I might need a small break before the next revelation.”
“Oh, I think you’re going to want to hear this.”
I study his face. Then I pull the box of Kleenex closer. Just in case.
“It’s a good thing. I promise.”
“Okay. But I’ll be the judge of that.” I take a deep breath. “Shoot.”
“Larry came to me to talk about the new StarSports Academy and the tennis division.”
My eyes narrow slightly.
“I know, I know.” He raises both hands, palms out. “The three of us should have talked about it together.”
“Damn straight.”
“What can I say?” He shrugs apologetically. “Not everyone is as enlightened as I am.”
“And?”
“At first, he thought you and I should share both positions.”
I brace yet again. Afraid that Rich somehow ended up as the head of both.
“But I told him in no uncertain terms that given your background and knowledge of the sport, the tennis division should be all yours.” He hesitates. “But I’m hoping you might be open to building the academy together.” He’s watching my face carefully. A small, hopeful smile lights his eyes. “What do you think?”
Relief rushes through me. I want to believe in this man and trust in that smile. “I think I might be able to live with that. But only after I give Larry grief for not discussing this with both of us.”
We grin. Our eyes on each other.
“I’m with you on that,” he says. “We need to make sure Larry understands that we’re a team and not to be played against each other.”
“Agreed,” I say.
“Told you it was good.” His eyes crinkle.
“I kind of hate it when you’re right,” I reply. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Nothing that can’t wait,” he says softly. “Well, except for this.” He leans over the desk so that we’re eye to eye. We’re both smiling as our lips meet.
Judith
I’ve been so busy getting the house ready to go on the market that time has begun to fly by. The kids—yes, both of them!—will be in this weekend to go through their things and to celebrate the life we lived here. I know Nate will be with us in each memory and story that we tell. (Who knows, maybe Nate came to Ethan in a dream and helped convince him to come home and help me to move on.)
Every once in a while, I imagine I see him just ahead in a hallway or out of the corner of my eye when I slide into bed. His presence is comforting. It’s almost as if I can feel him smiling.
As I climb in the car to drive to our last book club meeting before the summer break, I feel a little like the religious renegade on that ship headed for the Massachusetts Bay Colony; I don’t know where I’d be right now if it weren’t for my book club and the friends who make it up. I wouldn’t even mind being banished to Rhode Island as long as they could come with me.
When I arrive, the store is ablaze with light and filled with conversation and laughter. The gang is all here, and I hug my way back toward the refreshments, where Annell is preparing to light the candles and prosecco is being handed around.
“Happy birthday!” I throw my arms around Jazmine, who is wearing a pink plastic birthday crown as if it were a diamond tiara. Her smile is quick and easy. Her hug is warm. I see something new, more open in her eyes. “Thirty-six seems to be agreeing with you so far,” I say.
“I’m surprisingly good with it,” she says as Meena hands us glasses of prosecco. “It’s been quite the day.”
“Do tell, girl,” Carlotta sashays forward in a chartreuse mesh handkerchief hem dress that does incredible things for her figure and her dark skin. “Something’s got her all lit up, and I don’t think it’s the candles.”
“I’ll never tell,” Jazmine insists with a flash of white teeth. “All I’m going to say is sometimes people can surprise you in a good way.”
Carlotta eyes Erin, who mimes a locking motion over her lips. “I like my job way too much to tell.”
“Good thinking.” Jazmine grins and taps her forehead.
“There’s a lot of good thinking going on here,” Chaz says. “Some of my coworkers like to tease me about being in a book club, but they don’t have any idea what they’re missing.” He raises his glass. “You all are the best. Thank you for letting me be a part of this group.”
“Hear! Hear!” Wesley and Phoebe raise their glasses. “To the best book club ever. And to the birthday girl!”
“Because she knows how to make thirty-six look good!” Nancy Flaherty adds with a toss of her head that sends her golf ball earrings swinging.
Angela arrives and takes one look at Jazmine before breaking into a grin. “Good Lord,” she says, laughing. “I never thought I’d see that look on your face again.” She throws her arms around Jazmine. “But I am so happy to see it!”
Sara and Dorothy raise their glasses, and we all gather around the cake, egging Annell on as she lights the candles. Then we’re singing “Happy Birthday” to Jazmine, belting out the words as loudly as we can without the slightest concern for pitch or key or anything else but letting her know how much we love her.
We cheer when she blows out the candles. And then we are carrying heaping plates of birthday cake and sloshing glasses of prosecco into the carriage house, where we settle in for the discussion.
We watch Jazmine tear off the wrapping of what turns out to be a first edition signed copy of Becoming. As she clutches it to her chest with joy, I feel the warmth of friendship and belonging envelop me.
We discuss the book thoroughly. (I’m not going to go into detail here because I don’t want to spoil it for you.)
I know I’m not the only one who is becoming more—more myself, more adventurous, more the person I’d like to be. We’ve all changed and grown and adapted.
When the conversation dies out, Annell settles back in her chair. “So, I hope to see you all in the store over the next few months. There are copies of the books we’re reading over the summer at the front desk. Before we vote on a name for our group, I’d like to address the question about what the person whose suggestion is chosen wins. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and the lucky winner will get”—she points to Chaz, who does a mock drumroll on his thigh—“a free lifetime membership in our book club.”
“But isn’t membership already free?” Erin asks.
“True,” Annell replies. “Hmmm. I know, how about a twenty percent discount on all book club reads?”
“We already get that, too,” Wesley points out.
“True.” Annell smiles. “How about free food and drink at every meeting?”
Jazmine laughs. “So, this is basically you reminding us what we already get by being a part of the Between the Covers book club?”
“It is.” Annell’s smile widens. “Can anyone think of anything they want that’s not already included?”
“I’m willing to settle for bragging rights when I win,” Sara says, aiming a glance at Dorothy.
“Ha! You mean when I win,” Dorothy retorts.
“Hey, you two aren’t the only ones competing, you know,” Chaz points out.
“That’s right,” Angela adds.
“Now, now, children,” I interject. “Why don’t we let Annell read the new entries and worry about prizes when and if we choose a name?”
Everyone seems on board with this. No one disagrees.
Annell pulls sheets of paper out of a file folder and passes them around. “These are the book club name suggestions we’ve already heard. These”—she holds a stack of more ragged sheets of paper—“are all the latest entries.”
Annell lifts the first.
As a group, we do a drumroll on the closest hard surface.
“We have Better Than Therapy, which is, of course, true.”
There is agreement and laughter.
“Second, we have Nerd Herd.”
“Hey,” Chaz quips. “Speak for yourself!”
There are snorts of laughter. Meena rouses and offers an extra throaty “Hon, hon, hon.”
“On a slightly more serious note, we have Cranial Crunch and Rabid Readers.” Annell pauses for a sip of prosecco. “We’ve also got the Bookies, Spine Crackers, and Better Read Than Dead.” Annell laughs. “Is it me or are these starting to feel a bit aggressive?”
There’s chatter and more laughter as we contemplate one another. I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering who submitted what.
“Okay, we have . . . Literal Hotties, the Witty Worms, the Eclectic Bookworms, Cover2Cover, La Literati, and Litwits.” Annell grins at the last. “It’s fun, but I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”
“La Literati has a cool secret-society vibe,” Wesley points out.
“I still like Reading Between the Wines,” Meena says as she pours the last of the prosecco. “Because we do.”
We read over the list of earlier entries. We ponder. We make jokes. We all have our favorites. But once again, there’s no clear winner.
“Can’t we just call it Book Club and call it a day?” Chaz asks, looking for a compromise. “Or table it until fall?”
“We could,” Erin says. “But I was just thinking how Jazmine brought me here when my wedding got called off. And my life was in the toilet. And how much it helped me.”
“It is an incredibly welcoming place when your marriage ends,” Sara says quietly.
“Or your world falls apart,” I add.
“Damn straight,” Dorothy agrees.
“What are you suggesting?” Annell asks.
“Well, breaking up wouldn’t be a requirement or anything because I mean then who would want to join? But what if we called it the Break-Up Book Club? You know, as in it can help you survive almost anything?”
At first, we assume she’s joking. There are snorts of laughter. And some of disbelief. We look at one another and then at Erin, who has this sweet, sincere, yet hopeful look on her face.
For possibly the first time since the group was formed, we are in complete and total agreement.
In unison, and with no—or at least not much—disrespect intended, we all yell, “Naaah!”