“All right.”
“Susan, I swear on all that is holy, if you speak about that cosmetic company one more time…” Gertrude looks ready to throw hands as she says this, her boyish haircut ruffled from how many times she’s dragged her hands through it.
“I won’t lie and not say what gave me that new porcelain skin.”
“No one asked you that.”
Susan smiles. “But you were thinking it.” Her wild hair and boho clothes remind me of a fortune teller who sells crystals or bongs. I guess the face creams are tame, all things considered.
Eileen taps Susan’s thigh. “I’d love to hear about it, darling.”
“Well, good, because actually…” Susan leans down to grab her purse, then pulls multiple white tubes out of it. “I have these samples I can give you, and—”
“Oh, Jay-sus,” Gertrude exclaims like she’s performing an exorcism. “Another poor soul caught in the snares of a pyramid scheme.”
“It’s not a pyramid scheme!” Susan says, then proceeds to explain how the company is in fact a textbook example of a pyramid scheme. I keep my laughter quiet behind the wine glass that was practically forced into my hands.
“Stop it,” Eileen chastises, her words slurred. “We’ll make Cassie think we’re crazy old bats if you go on.”
“Damn right she should think that!” Gertrude says, making me laugh out loud. I don’t think I’ve seen her exude that much intensity since I met her in first grade. I think I might like tipsy Gertrude, actually.
“I promise I don’t,” I say.
“Elizabeth should be there next time,” Mom says. “She’s young. You’ll fit right in then.”
Never would I have thought I’d say these words, but I actually wouldn’t mind coming back to crochet club. This is probably the time I’ve felt most at ease in this house in… forever. It feels like a different place. I can breathe. There’s also the fact that these ladies are wild, in the most respectful, loving sense of the word. Most of them ended up picking up their crochet projects, but no more than a few stitches were made before the yarn was put back down as another debate was started. No one argues or tells stories like them. The second I mentioned I was an L&D nurse, it was an invitation to share their childbirth stories in all their glorious details, which led to menopause horror stories, which then led to the women drinking more.
“Oh, I love this song!” Eileen shouts when Mom’s old radio, still tuned to the same channel after all these years, begins playing Tom Jones’ “It’s Not Unusual.” Then, she’s on her feet, and Susan is right there with her, all dancing to the crackly song. Their moves are stinted, hindered by back pain or bad knees, but they don’t seem to have a care in the world, dancing out there in the middle of Mom’s living room like nobody’s business. Gertrude watches them dance, and Mom remains seated but doesn’t seem saddenedby it. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her as happy as she looked this afternoon.
I can imagine Ruth being there, too, standing to out-dance everyone here and singing at the top of her lungs.
Watching them feels like being back in some of my best childhood memories. Those nights with Ruth’s friends, where they’d serve me cranberry juice in a wine glass and speak to me like I was equal to them in every way, will always remain etched in my mind. I don’t know how these women made their way from Ruth to Mom, but I’m glad they did.
And being with them today, italmostfeels like being reunited with Ruth. I bite a corner of my lips to fight the pressure building behind my eyes.
“Come on, honey,” Susan says as she grabs my hand and makes me stand, effectively pulling me out of my feelings. “Show us what that young body got.”
I don’t like dancing. Never have. But now, with these women grooving to the music without moving much of their body, I can’t help it, then laugh because this entire afternoon has been unreal, in every sense of the word.
I never thought I’d make happy memories here again. Everything about this town always felt wrong. But the past two weeks I’ve spent with Eli and Zoe, and now this afternoon with these ladies… It feels like hitting a wall headfirst.
And yet, I don’t think I mind. Not one bit.
Chapter 15
“Just one more time.”
“You’ve told me that eight times now,” I say as Zoe reaches the end of the slide and is already running to the ladder to climb back up.
“One more,” she says.
I’m a sucker. I really am.
The park is only a few blocks away from Eli’s, but I should have left five minutes ago. Eli even texted me a half hour ago to remind me.
Eli: All good for tonight?
Yes, papa bear.
