“Paella’s an odd thing to serve children,” Rachel said.
“People loved it.”
“If you say so.”
“You’d like Annie. She’s sharp. And kind. And closer to your age than mine.”
“But she—Annie—had already graduated when—” Rachel paused.
Hearing the familiar tremor in Rachel’s voice, Lena sprang into action. She’d mostly lost Rachel long ago, but there were still moments like this, of reliance.
“If Annie had any clue what I did, Rachel, do you think she’d want me at her book club?”
“Right.” Rachel’s laugh was small. “I don’t suppose she would.”
* * *
“He’s here!” Abe said. He had been stationed at their bay window for the past fifteen minutes, watching for Colin’s blue car.
“Colin’s here,” Jen repeated to Paul, who had the oven door open and was squinting suspiciously at the precooked turkey.
We barely know this kid, he’d said.
Paul wanted a Thanksgiving like they usually had: the three of them eating takeout on the couch, treating the holiday as a breather before the frantic bounce of Christmas—from Jen’s mom in northern California to Paul’s sister in the middle to Jen’s dad and young stepmother in Los Angeles, worrying all the way, ha, ha, ha, about whether Abe was going to behave, and were his cousins being little jerks.
The official arrangement with Colin, what he was being paid for, involved his driving Abe home after school four days a week and staying until dinner so that Jen could work. But Colin seemed desperate for family time and tended to stay longer. He ate with them most nights and always helped clean up afterward and had even volunteered to come over on any weekend, really, he was never doing anything anyway. Like them, he was relatively new in town and didn’t know many people.
And he was so good for Abe: reasoned and calm, but he gently challenged him to venture outside of his comfort zone. Last weekend, they’d walked to the Cottonwood playground and shot basketball hoops.
Unprecedented.
When Colin chewed on the cuff of his plaid flannel shirt and mumbled that he had no plans for Thanksgiving, all Jen could think about was Abe as a lonely young adult.
She had extended the invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, and Colin’s entire face lit up with disbelief. You mean me?
Obviously, the women of book club—with their chocolate turkeys and kids’ tables and Thankfulness Trees and traditions up the wazoo—were getting to Jen, because she’d ordered the full catered Thanksgiving dinner from Breadman’s Market.
And as she opened the door to Colin, Jen felt a wash of genuine thankfulness toward him.
“Colin,” she sang, “come on in.”
DECEMBER
To: “The Best Book Club in the World”
From: [email protected]
Tis the Season, Ladies!
The book: THE GIVING MITTENS, a “heartwarming tale of one pair of mittens passed through ten different owners over several decades.”
Follow THE GIVING MITTENS from the Great Depression to a closeted 1950s housewife, from a homeless son reunited with his parents in the 1970s, to a present-day single dad, newly laid off, and unable to purchase the “it” toy for his disabled son.
It has been called “emotionally resonant” and “touching” （literally, ladies, this one is not for the germophobes among us, am I right?） and:
“kind of like the sisterhood of traveling pants. But with mittens. And strangers. And even less realistic.”*
Like last year, we acknowledge our own #luck and #blessings with a clothing drive for those in need! Please collect all outerwear （mittens, scarves, coats） prior to the meeting.
Jen Chun-Pagano has volunteered to deliver everything to the Kingdom School and will be parked in PRIYA’S DRIVEWAY （8323 Red Fox Way） to collect your bags and boxes so dig deep into those closets, Ladies!!!
Whew! You still with me or are you all still hung over from last month’s club meeting??? （Hahahahahaha! But seriously Deb, maybe you could bring an aspirin chaser this month?）
*Okay Deb said this, but I thought it was perfect;）;）;）
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was a tale as old as time: being in the “in crowd” required so much more effort.
This was why Jen found herself standing in Priya Jensen’s driveway, huddled against a cold so bitter that she could feel the tiny hairs inside of her nose freeze, listening to Deb Gallegos talk about air mattresses.
After the November book club, Jen had been initially tickled to be included on the “inner circle” text group, which so far had consisted of reports of coyote spottings, an invitation to an exercise class called Feel the Burn, and a long discussion about which wines were safe for a Paleo diet.