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“Where do you want the dip?” she asks, holding up her Tupperware. “I thought I’d go crazy, try seven layers instead of just five.”
I smile. “Because five is child’s play,” I tease. I quickly clear my laptop and work papers away, pull up a couple of chairs to add to my seating, and turn on some soothing background music from my Nancy Meyers playlist.
Luckily, I’ve hosted plenty of times before, and everything is totally relaxed. Roxy’s pulling out glasses for her drink of the night, Evelyn is fetching bowls for chips and the obligatory healthy veggie sticks (for Arthur’s cholesterol), and Lottie’s Tupperware collection is yet again, a work of practical art. Soon, we’re all seated, sitting—and sipping—the evening away.
“Let’s hear the news,” Lottie says brightly.
“Yes, let’s.” Evelyn gives me a meaningful look. “I want to hear who’s done what… and with whom.”
I avert my gaze and focus on my needles.
“Well, I did it.” Roxy offers, taking a gulp of her sangria. “I quit my job.”
“Good on you!” Arthur cheers.
“Very good,” Evelyn agrees, firmly. “That boss of yours was a real piece of work.”
“Exactly,” Roxy says, sighing. “He got handsy. I walked out mid-shift.”
“Oh, boy,” I wince, setting down my half-knitted sleeve. “Are you okay?”
She nods. “I’m just… Tired. Of having to deal with this bullshit in every damn bar in town. Sorry, language,” she nods to Lottie, who waves it away.
“Please. That handsy motherfucker needs to kiss my ass.”
Roxy smiles. “I’d like to see that.”
“What’s wrong with these guys?” Arthur grumbles. “If I was still a young man, I’d tell them to put up their dukes.”
Evelyn’s knitting needles click faster, deliberate. “That bar you worked at, Roxy. What was it? It sounded like two last names. Holmes and Watson?”
Roxy laughs. “Hill and Webster.”
“Hipsters,” Evelyn grumbles, disdainfully. Roxy and I exchange a grin since we’re the one who taught her that word. Then, as if committing the name to memory, Evelyn repeats, “Hill and Webster. Hmmm…”
And suddenly, I know exactly where this is going.
“Evelyn…” I say.
She bats her eyelashes, mimicking me. “Jenn…”
Roxy glances between us, catching up on the tone. “What’s happening?”
“She’s planning something,” I warn.
“I wouldn’t do anythingintentionally,” Evelyn says. “But if, say, I stopped by Hill and Webster one night to pick up a man at the bar, as I am wont to do. Well, maybe the manager there offends me deeply. Me—an old lady! Maybe he gets my martini to his face. And a smack of my walking cane. Just for good measure.”
Roxy laughs.
“She’ll do it, you know,” Lottie warns her. “When my prom date stood me up, mom paid him a visit at his summer lifeguard job the next day. Somehow, he wound up falling headlong in the deep end. Right in front of everyone.” She shoots Evelyn an affectionate smile.
“Hey, I’m all for it,” Roxy grins. “Revenge is best served over ice. And far be it from me to tell Evelyn how to spend her time.”
Evelyn beams… And then her eyes land on me.
“So, Jenn, my love. How’s the sexy boss?”
I gulp.
