Page 22 of A Shade of Myself
Marsha couldn’t stop her snort. My jokes never amused her, so I took this as a major victory and did a seated wiggly dance.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “The rosé will keep until the next one.”
“That’s not the issue,” she said icily to the sound of paper rustling. “The rules—”
“Welcome email,” I corrected. There was more rustling from her end. “Wait. Did you print it out? How many pages was it?”
“The rules state that should one host be indisposed, book club automatically moves to the next person on the list.” Even over the phone, her molar grinding was audible. “You.”
The soaking wet golem in my backyard shook water on me before leaping through the sprinkler again.
“Yeah, no. That can’t happen.” I dabbed my damp face with the hem of my sundress. I didn’t have time to clean my house before Sunday so that it glittered like a Mr. Clean commercial, nor was I about to race around buying snacks to fulfill everyone’s different dietary needs. There were so many that the last time I’d hosted, I’d requested doctors’ notes verifying these were actual medical debilitations and not just because “bread made you bloat.”
Besides, what was the point of book club without cheese?
That’s right, there wasn’t one.
“Rules, Miriam.” There was a sharp thwack as if she’d rolled the printed pages up and smacked them against a table.
“For the last time, the email isn’t legally binding, no matter how much you wish otherwise.”
“You have to host.” Her voice cracked.
I frowned. Emotion? From the ice queen? Surely not. But I had to ask. “What’s really going on? And don’t say rules. Are you okay?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m—” A door slammed open on her end, accompanied by a roar of male voices.
I jerked the phone away from my ear. “What was that?”
The sound of a second door closing cut the men off, replaced by the distant sound of cars.
“My husband is having a few frat brothers stay with us for their twentieth reunion. For a whole week. They’re having such a good time.” Any more brittle and she’d shatter.
I banged my fist against my forehead. “Lovely.”
“Last night, they got drunk and had a farting competition in the hot tub. Such jokers, always competing.”
“Hey, babe,” a deep voice said on Marsha’s side. “Had a bit of a grease fire sitch.”
“It’s out though, right?” Wow. Points to her for sounding calm.
“All good. Also, we need more bacon.” There was a loud kissing smack. “You’re the best.”
Marsha’s deep breathing was understandable, but this was the last book club of our “agreed to” year membership. If Kit couldn’t host, then I was free, and Marsha couldn’t stop me. She could go to a movie or visit a friend if she had to get out of the house.
I was allowed to set boundaries.
Marsha still hadn’t spoken. Uh, how long could a person safely breathe deeply before hyperventilating?
I didn’t even like book club. Plus, I’d be expected to come up with conversation guides. “This book is a masturbatory wank. Discuss.” wouldn’t cut it. I’d tried.
I sighed. “I’ll buy more rosé.”
“Thank you,” Marsha whispered.
Damn it, hosting book club was going to be so much work. But if it kept her from losing her shit, I had to support her. With one caveat. “We’re having cheese.”
“God, yes,” she said viciously. “The lactose intolerant crowd isn’t holding my brie hostage this time.”
