Kate Jacobs (18 page)

* * *

There was nothing left of the cake but a few
crumbs on a plate. The club had mainly been about snacking and chatting
tonight. Though Lucie had actually taken out her knitting, Anita noticed. The
TV producer, she knew, had several projects on the go—but was trying to pace
herself on the sweater to keep time with everyone else. But she was already on
to the sleeves while the rest of the group was still plowing their way through
the back. Well, good for her.
They couldn't just party like Judy Garland all night. And she'd have to get
back to Nathan and Rhea soon enough. Anita felt giddy, both from the wine and
from spending the evening the way she wanted to instead of the way her sons
expected her to. It felt good. Liberating. Maybe even a little bit naughty.
"How's everyone's knitting coming along?" she asked, slurring just
slightly on the letter
s
. It was really a question for K.C.; Lucie was
an accomplished knitter and Darwin, well, was Darwin.
K.C. picked up on the comment.
"I know who you're talking to, Miss Anita, and I have a second
announcement to make," said K.C., who stood up somewhat unsteadily. How
many glasses of wine had she drunk? "From now on, I'm only going to make
things that are E-A-S-Y. If it has more than fifty rows, it's out. So forget
what I said about scarves last week—now, it's only Barbie scarves. And only in
garter stitch. I am so done with purling."
The women's laughter was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Anita walked
over and turned the lock.
"Ah, Anita," breathed Cat, a vision in a very Easter-egg pink swing
coat and matching clutch bag. Her sharp, flowery perfume wafted in, though her
body was still in the doorway. "I hope I'm not too late for the knitting
club."
"Um, do you knit?" asked Anita, displeased to see Georgia's
troublesome old friend. It had been gratifying to see Georgia finally relax
tonight; Anita wanted to protect her from anyone who could tramp all over that
good feeling.
"I didn't know that was an actual requirement," Cat responded curtly
as she blew past Anita into the shop. "Hello, Georgia! Hello,
everyone!" She spoke as if addressing a convention. Too loudly. "It's
delightful to meet you all. I'm Cat Phillips. Georgia is making me a
dress."
"Cat! This is unexpected." Georgia was somewhat embarrassed by the
empty wine bottles on the table. She looked down automatically, as if her eyes
could prevent Cat from seeing them. Of course, Cat followed her gaze.
"Thank God. I'd love a glass," she said, settling herself at the
table and raising a plastic cup to the light to make sure it was clean. "I
was wondering if all you did was play with yarn. This will do fine."
"Fill it to the rim for our friend Mrs. Phillips," said K.C. dryly.
Darwin picked up the bottle and brought it over. Cat downed her first glass.
"Hit me again, wine lady," she said, surveying the room.
"Georgia, nice club you've got here. Festive."
And with that, she raised her cup, as Georgia simply shrugged her shoulders at
Anita. What can you do? She refilled her own cup and took another to her friend
and mentor, who was relieved to see that Georgia was calm about Cat's presence.
"If you can't beat '
em
, join '
em
," Georgia said.

* * *

"Time for Truth or Dare," announced
K.C. soon afterward, the small talk having dissolved into an awkwardness with
the presence of Cat.
Georgia hated games. Always had.
"I don't think so…" she started.
Darwin perked up.
"I love games," she said. In truth, she'd never been anywhere, like a
sleepover, where she would have played a game like Truth or Dare. But she liked
the idea of being part of the gang.
"I do, too—my whole life is a joke," muttered Cat. "I'm
in."
"I'm out," said Lucie. "It's time I went home."
"Can't," responded K.C. "It's against the rules in the knitting
club handbook." She consulted her empty palm. "Yes, yes, rule #577B.
No one, not even Lucie, may opt out of mandatory games that have more than two
players." K.C. looked up. "Guess that means you're in. Anita, you
first."
"First? First what? I don't think they even had this game when I was a
girl, K.C. We just played
potsie
on the sidewalk. I
can't help you."
"Just ask Truth or Dare, Anita."
"Here's truth: You've had too much to drink."
"No, you
ask
'Truth or Dare,' you don't make a pronouncement."
"I'm ready! Truth or Dare, Georgia?" Darwin was earnest.
"Neither," responded Georgia definitely.
"Okay, truth!" Darwin was undeterred, at twenty-seven, from playing
her first-ever game. "Why are you so grouchy all the time?"
"Yes, that's it. You're so aloof!" interrupted Cat. "Brilliant
analysis, whoever you are. Georgia the Grouch."
The knitter fumed as she regarded her bitchy old friend and the irritating grad
student. If there was one thing Georgia was never good at, it was handling
criticism. ("You're oversensitive," her mother, Bess, used to tell
her. "You'll never be able to handle the real world if you don't get a
thicker skin.")
A nasty retort jumped out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Before
she could remember to be professional.
"Stress. Ever heard of it? Oh, no, you're too busy spending your husband's
money, Cat. Or you, Darwin, too busy avoiding the real world."
Aack
. Was she drunk too? She looked up at Anita, who
winced.
"I think the gloves are coming off, people," said Cat sharply.
"So don't hold back, Georgia Walker. Tell us what you really think."
Georgia paused for a moment, facing down her old friend. Her first impulse was
to gloss over her mini-outburst. Return the club meeting to its festive spirit.
Instead, other, different words came out of her mouth. Honest ones.
"Maybe I am grouchy. Maybe what I really think is that I am just a little
bit envious of some things," she admitted with a sigh.
"It's just really hard being a single mom—there's always a new bill or a
new worry and no one to share it with." Georgia looked at Anita and reassessed.
"No husband to share it with, I mean. Because I wouldn't survive without
Anita. I think you all know that."
A cheering round of agreement went through the group. Even Cat's expression had
momentarily lost its hard edge. Georgia continued.
"I'll tell you the truth, Ms. Truth-or-Dare Darwin. I'm really tired. The
shop takes a lot of juggling, and as Dakota gets older, she seems to need me
more rather than less. My whole body aches, and I just want to sleep for a
thousand years."
"And now that handsome James is back on the scene," crowed Cat,
looking around the room, nodding.
"He is not," insisted Georgia.
"Oh, believe me, I saw how he watched you at my party. Maybe you need your
camera checked, Georgia, but that man is completely back in the picture."
Georgia folded her arms and made a face.
"What about you, Cat? What's your big truth?"
"My truth—and I'm completely comfortable telling all of you—is that my
husband is a snaky little tightfisted two-timer who thinks I'm on the road to
getting fat." Cat turned in her seat to look at Darwin, the youngest woman
in the room. "Are you married?" she asked. Darwin hesitated.
"Keep it that way if you want to be happy," said Cat with a shake of
her head, followed by a swig from her plastic cup. "I spend my life poking
and prodding my muscles, my fat cells, my old bones. You name a treatment, I've
had it. But it's never enough."
"That behavior is a type of control—" Darwin began a lecture, but Cat
stopped her with a snotty laugh.
"I took Psychology 101. I know it," she said matter-of-factly.
"What I don't know is how I became a victim to it. I don't know how I went
from being me to becoming Mrs. Needs-to-Fix-Herself."
Cat addressed Georgia directly in an icy voice. "I bet you have an answer,
Ms. Walker. Maybe something to do with selling out?"
Looking at her hands, Georgia chose her words carefully.
"We all find ourselves in places we don't expect, Cat. Situations that
seem out of our control," she said. "The challenge is making our way
out of them."
"And so it is, old friend," replied Cat, sounding satisfied yet still
needling Georgia, ever so slightly, with her attitude. "So who's with
me?"
"Who's with you to what?" asked K.C., fading fast from too much wine.
"Ah, yes, the loud one," said Cat, appraising K.C. "Let's all
make a pledge to do something that scares us. Something that will challenge us.
Make our way out of our situations, to quote the always successful Ms.
Walker."
Cat drew out the "always successful" part a few beats too long. Just
enough to raise Georgia's hackles.
"I don't know about this—"
"I do. I'll do something," Darwin spoke quickly. "I'm going to
learn how to knit."
"Brava, but not exactly the earth-shattering thing I'd expect to hear at a
knitting club. However, there you go." Georgia marveled at Cat's command
of a room. "Any other takers?"
"I'll call my mother," said Lucie.
"When's the last time you spoke?" Cat inquired.
"Over a year."
"Now we're cooking with gas, folks! Excellent. And I pledge to…lay off
Botox and stop thinking so much about what I look like. And maybe to mend some
fences along the way." Cat smiled at Georgia. A beautiful, defiant, happy
smile. "It's your turn."
"I don't know. What scares me? Having James snake his way back into our
lives."
"And I am going to take the LSAT," yelled K.C. "Screw it all,
I'm going to go for it."
"Yes," said Anita, "let's all go for it." And if Marty asks
me out again, she thought silently to herself, I'll say yes.

* * *

"Let me carry the dishes into the
kitchen—please, it's my pleasure," said James. "You must have worked
for hours on that fantastic Easter meal. The lamb was really tender." It
was a perfect Sunday evening. James had been great company all night, sharing
stories about Easter in Paris—Georgia noticed he never mentioned if he shared
those holidays with a special someone—and tall tales about growing up with his
sisters back in Baltimore. Dakota had been entranced.
"So I have how many cousins?" she asked, marveling at the idea of her
family expanding. Georgia's younger brother didn't have children yet and
besides, they saw the Walker clan only once a year, around Christmas. Her
brother, Donny, drove in to take Dakota to Pennsylvania as soon as school let
out, and Georgia went up on Christmas Eve, closing the shop at noon and coming
back with her
muffingirl
on the twenty-seventh. The
way Dakota was reacting, though, was like she'd never seen an actual blood
relation. It left Georgia feeling a little ticked, to be in James's shadow
whenever he was around Dakota.
"Three aunties and seven cousins, plus a whole other set of
grandparents." Dakota was thinking hard; Georgia could see that. "Do
they know when my birthday is? It's in July. I'll be thirteen, you know."
Georgia had explained, awkwardly, over the years about James and his family not
being very involved in their lives. But she always told Dakota that she was
loved. And she'd never revealed the details of why James wasn't around—simply
that he had a job in Paris that kept him busy. Her daughter had rarely complained
to her directly, choosing instead to funnel her questions and frustrations
through Anita. A good thing, because Georgia was quite sure—definite, in
fact—that the charming Mr. Foster had never actually told his parents about
her, let alone about their baby. And she had a few choice words to say about
that. But now was not the time.
"That's enough, Little Miss I-Made-Dessert-All-by-Myself," she said,
hoping to distract her daughter. She didn't want to see her get hurt when she
realized the Fosters wouldn't care about her birthday. Anita, as always, picked
up the cue.
"So what delight are you going to tempt us with tonight? A baked
Alaska?"
"No! It's something for our guest of honor. And I'm having it
delivered."
"Delivered? There's a carrot cake in the kitchen, honey," Georgia
whispered. "The one we made this morning…"
"That's just for our second dessert, Mom," Dakota whispered back.
"I'm having the special one delivered."
James, Georgia, and Anita all exchanged confused glances over the table.
"
Ummm
, how did you order this dessert,
sweetheart? When? Where?" Georgia wasn't sure how to handle the situation;
Dakota looked so pleased with herself, and she didn't want to have to launch
into being all strict-mommy. Not when they were having such a nice evening.
"Oh, I just put the order in on Friday. It's a little something I read
about in your Julia Child cookbook, but I had trouble getting some of the
ingredients," explained Dakota, patting Georgia's hand the way she'd seen
Anita do so many times. "I ordered it for right about now…"
Just then the doorbell rang. Not the buzzer for a deliveryman, Georgia noticed,
but the doorbell. She went up to the peephole while Anita and James also got up
from the table.
"Special delivery!" rang out the deep, loud, familiar voice. It was
Marty—dressed in a suit and tie, no less. Georgia opened the door to her good
friend.
"Special delivery," he said again, handing over a large, covered,
metal dish to Georgia. She motioned him inside with a flick of her head and
walked the dish over to the table. Anita smiled, ill at ease, as Marty joined
the party. She hadn't expected to see him tonight. Quickly, she turned her
head, ran her tongue rapidly over her teeth. Just in case. One never knew what
could get stuck when you had broccoli.
"Ta-
dah
!" yelled Dakota. "Hurry,
Anita! It's Bananas Foster! Get it? Bananas Foster! For our guest of
honor." Dakota grinned and put her arm around her father, pumped her fist
in the air a few times, jubilant over successfully planning a secret dessert.
And at having her mom and dad in the same room with her. "And it's for me,
too. I'm half-Foster, you know."
Georgia's face froze in horror; James caught her eye and shook his head
slightly. He hadn't put her up to the idea.
"That may be true, Dakota, but all the best parts are pure Walker, I
assure you," said James smoothly. "The good looks
and
the good
manners."
Dakota shrugged, busy explaining to Marty that they still had a chance to light
things up if they struck a match to the heavily liquored dish. "Stand
back, everybody," she yelled. "It's Bananas Foster! Go
go
go
!"
The match struck, but the flame lasted only a moment on the top of the liquid,
then petered out. Dakota looked glum. "Let's try it again! Get me another
match, quick!"
"I have a better idea," said Anita. "Why don't we get out the
ice cream and serve this up? It looks delicious, dear, and what a brilliant
idea. I see a great future for you as either a party planner or the President
of the United States." She smiled, blushing ever so slightly. "And
Marty, you'll stay, of course."
Marty straightened his tie as his face relaxed into a toothy grin.
"I was hoping you'd say that, Anita," he said. "Because I'd love
to."