The Book Club Hotel(7)
Maybe turning forty had blown something in her brain.
Erica lay on her stomach on the bed, feeling as if she was about to step over a cliff edge. Her laptop screen displayed an image of a picture book–perfect inn, surrounded by snow and bathed in a holiday glow. Lights shone from the windows. It was described by reviewers as magical and romantic. Erica didn’t believe in magic, and she wasn’t romantic. She stared at it and felt her heart start to pound. Doubts burrowed into her brain and nudged at her resolve. Once she did it, that was it. There was no changing her mind. No rowing back on the decision.
Muttering under her breath, she stood up and paced to the window of her hotel room. Beyond the windows the city was alive with activity. People walked quickly, heads down, wrapped up against the bitter cold. In the square below people seemed to be setting up some sort of market.
She leaned her head against the glass.
What was wrong with her? She was a decisive person, and she’d made this decision the same way she made all her decisions, by considering pros and cons. There was no logical reason to feel stressed. And yet, here she was, stressed.
On impulse, she reached for her phone.
If she was doing this, then she needed her friends there.
Feeling shaky and a little unsteady, she tried Claudia first but it went straight to voice mail, which worried her a little. Claudia’s ten-year relationship had imploded six months earlier and she’d been having a difficult time. Erica called her frequently to check on her, and usually she picked up right away.
But not today.
She tried calling again, and this time considered leaving a message, but decided against it. What would she say? Hey, it’s Erica and I need you to stop me doing something I’m going to regret. Claudia had enough problems of her own.
She called Anna instead.
Her friend answered almost immediately.
“Erica! I didn’t expect to hear from you today. I thought you were traveling.” There was a clatter in the background. “How does it feel to be forty? Is it any different? I’m not sure whether I should be dreading the day or not. Will I need a therapist? I can’t wait to get together so I can celebrate with you.”
Erica waited until her friend paused to take a breath. “Forty feels no different from thirty-nine.” That wasn’t quite true, but she didn’t intend to dwell on it. “Thanks for your birthday message. Your singing is still awful, by the way. Took me right back to college and having to use earphones whenever you took a shower.”
“Pete would sympathize with you, but I love singing so I’m not going to stop for anyone. So what’s wrong? Tell me.”
“Why would anything be wrong?”
“Because you don’t normally call me at breakfast time,” Anna said. “You’re usually in a meeting.”
“I’m in Berlin. It’s lunchtime.”
“Berlin? I’m envious. Are you visiting the Christmas markets?”
Erica glanced back toward the window, wondering if that was what was happening in the square below. “Of course I’m not visiting the Christmas markets. This is me you’re talking to. I’m working. There’s a conference. Also, it’s November.”
“Christmas markets are often open in November. You could sneak out, surely.”
How could two people who were so different be such good friends?
“I could sneak out, but why would I?”
“To enjoy yourself? To get in the Christmas mood? Any of those things ringing bells? No, I guess not. Never mind. Claudia and I have long since given up trying to fill you with festive joy. So if you’re not calling to make me jealous with talk of gingerbread and handmade crafts, why are you calling?”
“I’m calling because I’ve found the perfect place.” She sat back down on the bed and stared at her laptop screen. It wasn’t a lie. It was the perfect place.
“Perfect place for what?” Anna’s voice was suddenly muffled. “Hold on—”
Erica winced as a loud crash came down her headphones. “What’s that noise? Do you have intruders in the house?”
“Do my kids count as intruders?” Anna sounded distracted, as if Erica’s call was just one of ten things she was doing simultaneously. “If so, then yes—wait a second, Erica, you’ve called at crazy hour.”
Was there a moment in Anna’s household that wasn’t crazy hour? It seemed to Erica that whenever she called, her friend was neck-deep in something. Supporting with homework, supervising music practice, washing sports kits, cooking dinners, making packed lunches. Her friend was basically a one-woman room service.
She heard laughter down the phone and then Anna’s voice, slightly distant.
That’s brilliant. So funny, Meg. I love it. But just because you’re a talented artist doesn’t mean you’re allowed to leave your bowl on top of the dishwasher! I know your father does it. That doesn’t mean you have permission to do it. Now go—I’m catching up with Erica.
Conversations with Anna were always the same—noisy and disjointed, punctuated by a background of family activity and interruptions. Part of her found it frustrating—how did Anna stand it?—but another part of her was grateful for moments like this because they made her feel better about her life decisions. Not that she often questioned herself, but occasionally she did. To be in Anna’s house was to be engulfed by warmth, wrapped and supported by those closely intertwined threads of family love. It made Erica feel unsettled. It made her question decisions she didn’t want to question. It made her wonder if she’d made all the wrong choices.