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The book club meets two weeks before Thanksgiving, and in honor of the season, they've decided the theme is anythingbutturkey and pie. Marigold has arrived with her famous chicken fried rice and dumplings, Heather has baked almond toffee bars and brought a tub of vanilla ice cream, Ruby's carefully layered basil, tomatoes, and thick, fresh slices of mozzarella on a plate and drizzled the whole thing with oil and vinegar, and Sunday shows up with mini hotdogs in tiny little buns, with a spicy mustard and a tangy ketchup to dip them in.
"This is a total hodgepodge," Ruby laughs, looking at the table. Her only concession to the holiday that's on the horizon has been to cover the table with a yellow cloth covered in hand-embroidered fall leaves (a gift from the wife of the former Governor of Maine), and to hang paper leaves on all her windows so that passerby can see that she's decorated for fall.
"It looks delicious," Molly says, walking in with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of cranberry juice in the other. She's also holding a clear bag with three limes in it. "I brought the makings for Cape Cods," she says, holding up the items.
"Cranberries feelveryThanksgiving-y to me," Marigold says, lifting an eyebrow. "But I'm gonna overlook it, since I'm ready for a Cape Cod."
Ruby smiles at the women--her friends--as they file in and start the usual routine of hugs, chitchat, and filling plates with appetizers. It's good to hear their voices in her bookshop, and the warmth that each woman exudes is almost tangible.
At the front of the store, Vanessa chooses a Christmas jazz playlist and gets the sound just right.
"Heyyyy!" Marigold calls out, turning to look through the three rooms of the bookshop to where Vanessa is still standing behind the front desk. "This isdefinitelyholiday music! We're doing an anti-holiday themed book club meeting!"
"What are you, the holiday police?" Molly asks with a frown. "Simmer down, sweet cheeks, and let the girl play what she wants."
Heather sits in the chair next to Molly’s, elbowing her playfully. "Never would have pegged you for a Christmas music fan."
"I'm one of those broads who looks tough on the outside, but on the inside I'm a big marshmallow," Molly says, knocking back a swig of her vodka-heavy Cape Cod. She winks at Heather. "But don't spread that around."
Ruby is as charmed by the women as she always is, but her mind is partially elsewhere as she scoops fried rice onto her appetizer plate and adds an almond toffee bar, a scoop of ice cream, a few dumplings, some caprese salad, and a miniature hot dog with condiments. She'll surely pay for it later as she lies awake half the night wondering what in the hell she ate at book club, but it'll be worth it for the fun of a true junk food fest with the girls.
"Where are Harlow and Athena?" Molly asks as she pops a tiny hot dog into her mouth.
"They went to D.C. together to pack up Athena's apartment," Ruby says from where she's standing at the table. "They've both officially decided to give up their apartments up north and stay down here a bit longer, but because of the wonder of the internet, they can work remotely, which is incredible. Wasn't like that when we were young, was it ladies?"
"Not even," Sunday agrees. "But good for them. I love that they're staying, and frankly, I'm a little jealous. A part of me wishes my girls were in a position to move down here and live on Shipwreck."
"But you've made your peace with them, and they're both doing good things, so that's what matters," Molly says, lifting her Cape Cod in a toast. She takes a sip.
"I'm eternally grateful for that," Sunday says, crossing her legs and balancing her overly full plate perilously one one knee. "And I've even found some peace with Peter, which is nothing short of a miracle."
The women grow silent. Peter isn't a frequent topic of conversation, and Sunday hasn't said much to them at all about her impending divorce.
"I went up to Miami a few weeks ago and met with Peter and all the lawyers," she says, holding her drink. "We had some words, and I told him that I don't care anymore what he says about me. I mean it, too."
"Good for you," Molly says. "Holding onto that bitterness will eat you up from the inside, like swallowing battery acid."
"That's the truth," Marigold says around a swig of her drink. "Take it from someone who's been divorced long enough to have an opinion on bitterness, forgiveness, and moving on."
"We don't talk much about you and Cobb," Heather says, glancing at Marigold from across the circle that they've made of their chairs.
"That's intentional," Marigold admits. "Cobb and I have a lot of stuff. We have a complicated past, and, to be perfectly honest, things are still a bit muddy. But that's a story for another time. I want to hear more about Peter."
"That's all there is, really," Sunday says, looking at the paper leaves on the window. The sky outside has darkened, and the Christmas music, while it doesn't go with the food, still makes everything feel cozy. "Well, that and I told him it was time to come out of the closet and face the world as the gay man that he is."
Molly chokes and sends vodka and cranberry juice flying as she tries to clear her windpipe. "He's gay?" she chokes out, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
Marigold laughs. "As a picnic basket. You didn't know that?"
Sunday looks at Marigold. "Is it that obvious?"
Marigold shrugs. "I've known a lot of gay men, and I think there are some tells, yeah. Also there are rumors," she says apologetically. "Sorry, but word gets around."
"Maybe in the world that you all inhabit," Molly says, still clearing her throat. "But I don't indulge in idle gossip or read the kinds of trashy magazines that talk about things like this." She looks around disapprovingly. "Still, if the man is gay, he's gay, and good for you that you told him to just come out with it. I don't support people living lives that aren't authentically their own, and I think it's high time we let people come out of their damn closets and live however they want."
"Well said," Ruby agrees. "I know he has to contend with other things like how his personal life appears to voters, and that he has to consider how everything he does looks to the public, but living a life that's defined by secrets can't feel good." She pauses. "If I could, I'd ask my own husband how that felt to be in love with someone else and to have a child that he had to hide away from the world."
"It's not quite the same thing though, is it?" Molly asks, looking back and forth between the two women. "If the President had come forward and told the world that he had two families, I don't think voters would have taken too kindly to that. But if a man running for office simply wants to be himself, then I think more people will accept it."
