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1
“This feels so different without her.” Nikki Brady tapped her fingers on her glass of club soda. She shifted in her seat, her gaze traveling to the three women sharing the booth at Splurge, one of the many upscale bar and restaurants in Tulip, California.
Violet acquiesced, taking her glass of Chardonnay to her lips. Strands of her Barbie blonde hair fell down her slim shoulders. Next to her sat Brit, with a puzzled look on her beautiful, round face.
“It’s only been a month,” Lara, second-generation Brazilian and first-generation kickass vegetarian, said, then shrugged.
A wave of sadness washed over Nikki. She clenched the glass, wishing she’d ordered a stiff drink instead. How else could she observe the one-month anniversary of Noelle’s death? Noelle, the good friend who had created The Bad Housewives Club—the moniker they used to call their group who met every Friday to forget about work, spouses and kids and enjoy some fun time watching movies, having drinks or getting mani-pedis while drinking dirty martinis. A tragic car accident had claimed Noelle’s life suddenly, leaving the rest of the group uncertain and in mourning.
Brit downed her cocktail and straightened her shoulders. “You guys, she wouldn’t want us to mope around. She’s gone, but we’re still here.”
“Barely,” Violet said, her voice above a whisper. She took another sip of her wine. For the duration of dinner, she had been quiet, with her blue gaze staring at nothing in particular.
Nikki swallowed. “Everything okay? I mean, besides the usual?” Violet had a six-month-old boy, Trevor, and also a five-year-old girl, Amanda, who was good friends with Brit’s daughter Libby.
“Yeah. Everything’s good,” Violet said in that elegant, upper-crust New York accent that lingered even after living for so many years in the West Coast. “Just tired.”
“I don’t blame you.” Lara nudged her. “I don’t have kids, and I’m already exhausted from listening to you guys.” Lara joined the club when she became engaged to a guy who was no longer in the picture—Noelle’s brother. Because of her spunky personality, she remained in the club. Only twenty-three, she was also a few years younger than the others.
“I’m tired too. I guess losing Noelle made me realize how sucky my life is. We talked a lot on the phone, and now I have all this extra time after the boys go to bed,” Nikki said. A small smile formed on her lips when she thought of the best part of her day—telling stories to David and Henry, then kissing them goodnight when they weren’t at their father’s house.
“Because you want to,” Lara said. “You’re twenty-seven, good looking with a stable job. Why can’t you allow yourself to date more?”
Oh, that godawful question. Even her grandmother berated her with it from time to time. “I can’t just go out with the first guy that I—”
“Maybe that’s exactly what you should do,” Brit said. “When was the last time you had sex?”
“I don’t know. The twins are five, so hhmmm, almost six years?” Nikki did the math in her head. She’d been divorced for about five, but her sex life had died after pregnancy when her then-husband Luke discovered he was into guys.
Violet squeezed her hand lightly, as if she just said she’d lost an important organ. “Oh, honey.”
Easy for her to say. Violet’s plastic surgeon husband was one of the hottest men in the entire state. She probably never experienced dry spells.
Brit waved to the waiter. “This stops tonight.”
“What?” Apprehension formed a lump in her throat.
“You were the one who said tonight feels different. Well, that’s because it is. Noelle helped us get out of our boring lives. She ziplined in Costa Rica. She had both kids without an epidural. She attended a tantric course with her husband,” Brit said.
“She lived.” Violet lifted her glass, as in a silent offering to her beloved friend.
“And we lived vicariously through her. Now, it’s time to inherit some of her zest for life and do it ourselves,” Lara said. “Get out of our comfort zones.”
The waiter arrived, and Nikki ordered some red wine. To continue this conversation, she needed more alcohol. “Let’s not go overboard here, ladies. Violet, you have cute kids and a hot husband. Lara, you have a banging body and no children, therefore lots of free time to do whatever you want. And Brit, you’re the best makeup artist who ever graced this town and most women would kill for your big boobs.” I know I would, she thought, instinctively crossing her hands over her chest.
“That’s not the point,” Brit said. “Maybe if we go outside our comfort zones, that will be a good way to honor Noelle’s life and not feel guilty for being here when she isn’t.”
“That’s what she’d have liked us to do,” Lara said.
“For instance. You,” Brit continued, pointing at Nikki, “haven’t dated in forever and always find excuses.”
The waiter brought her wine, and she took a sip. Dropping her shoulders, she avoided looking straight into Brit’s eyes. “It’s really hard to find a sitter these days,” she said. Not a lie. Her kids were only five, and not every teenager in the neighborhood wanted to watch two rambunctious boys on a regular basis. So she managed her schedule around them and preferred meeting her friends whenever David and Henry slept over at Luke’s.
Lara shook her head. “You’re here.”
“Because the boys are with their dad.”
“Who already found himself a hot man. C’mon, now it’s your turn.” Lara pointed at her.
