Tonight is his final shift, and in two days, he’s leaving. Last week, while we ate homemade Thai noodles on my sofa, a cheesy comedy show playing on the TV, he told me he’d made up his mind to go to Montana for Thanksgiving. He still hasn’t signed another contract, and he isn’t sure where he wants to go next, but he knows he wants to go home first. See his brother and hold his niece. I’m happy for him and unbelievably proud, but my chest still feels like it’s collapsing when I think about him leaving, when I remember how lonely my Airstream will feel when it’s just me in it again every evening. When the days grow shorter but somehow seem to stretch on forever, waiting until spring.
I need a distraction, and I know just the one.
My hands are full as I climb out of my truck and make my way to Wren’s front door. She doesn’t answer when I knock, but I hear a voice on the other side yelling for me to come in. The door creaks open beneath my palm, and I kick it closed behind me before heading down the hall. The conversation stops when I enter the kitchen, all eyes landing on me.
Wren, Finley, Alicia, and Nora. All of them shocked to see me, finally showing up for book club for the first time in months.
Alicia is the first to speak. “It’s about damn time.”
Finley’s mouth splits in a grin, and she rushes to give me a hug. “Let it happen.”
I do my best to sink into her embrace around the bags in my hands, her cheek pressed to mine.
“We’ve missed you,” she says.
My throat feels thick. “I’ve missed you guys.”
“Glad you could make it,” Nora says, and I give her a smile. “But now we’re definitely going to need more margs.”
Despite not making it to book club in months, I seamlessly fold back into the group. Alicia is loudly telling a story about an aggressive encounter she had with a woman in the produce aisle at the grocery over the last mango. Nora proudly recounts to Finley how her daughter Devina did something adorable at daycare drop off. Wren and I work side by side, juicing limes for margaritas.
I’ve missed this. I’ve missed them, and I’m kicking myself for not making this a priority. For letting my friendships take a back seat the last year.
“How you holding up?” Wren asks softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
I look over at her. Her hair is pulled up in a bun, ringlet curls falling out around her face. She’s got a piece of lime pulp on her cheek and is licking agave off of her pinky.
“What do you mean?” I pour ice into the shaker, but hold off shaking it.
“With Jack leaving soon.”
“Oh,” I say, and shake the margaritas to give myself time to figure out how to answer. I consider lying, but not being honest about my feelings hasn’t gotten me anywhere so far. I set the shaken margaritas down on the counter and say, “Not great.” My chest pinches. “I wish he wasn’t leaving. He fits here, you know?”
She watches me for a minute as I pour the drinks into glasses with cactus stems, an addition to book club night that she added last year. “Does he fit here or fit with you?”
I think about her question. “Both.”
The look she gives me is sad. Wren knows I’m not like the rest of them—that I’ve always been fine being on my own. Finding a partner was never high on my list of priorities. Wren spent years on dating apps and Finley had lots of dreams, but her biggest was to be a wife and mom. She wanted the white picket fence and the lazy Saturday mornings, and she got it. Nora married herhigh school sweetheart, and Alicia met a kind-hearted man who worships the ground she walks on.
Finding someone was never my dream, but now that I’ve met Jack, I can see why they all wanted it. I understand howgoodit feels to know and be known by someone.
“I’m sorry,” Wren says. She looks around at the group of women, and lowers her voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head, chest squeezing. “Not now. Let’s drink.” I push a glass across the counter toward her before lifting mine to my lips. We always serve margaritas at book club, and we’ve perfected the recipe over the last four years. It’s bright and strong and always has just the right amount of burn.
Wren stares at her margarita for a moment, then looks up at me, expression guilty. “I can’t have it.”
My eyes widen, but before I can respond, Alicia yells, “I knew you were pregnant!”
The rest of the girls swing to face us, wearing matching expressions of shock. Wren revealed her pregnancy with Wilder to us at book club three years ago, but I knew about that one ahead of time.
Wren affects a wince, but she’s smiling beneath it. “I was going to tell you first,” she tells me. “I forgot Alicia can hear everything.”
“You’repregnant?” Finley asks, surprise lacing her voice. She is Wren’s sister-in-law, after all.
Wren nods, her blue eyes filling with tears. “I found out a few days ago.”
“How far along are you?”
