My mother gives me a nudge, and I reluctantly relinquish mine. So does Megan. Our parents are all alike—they’re always trying to get us not to talk or text so much, especially at dinner.
We mill around for a bit, looking for our place cards. The adults are all at one table, and the girls plus my brother, Darcy Hawthorne, and the twins are at the other. Megan and I are seated next to each other, across from Cassidy.
“Yum,” says Cassidy happily, looking at the spread. Both tables are outfitted with their own fondue pots and fondue forks, along with platters of pound cake, marshmallows, strawberries, pineapple, bananas, and other fruit.
“Just a quick announcement!” says Mrs. Wong, as we all pick up our menus. “Mother and I would like to let you know that here at Heinz’s we serve only fair-trade chocolate, and the fruit is, of course—”
“Organic!” our table choruses.
Mrs. Wong looks chagrined.
“Did you design this?” I ask Megan as I open the menu.
She nods. “With a little help from Emma.”
Megan’s got great design sense, not only when it comes to clothes, but everything else as well. She was the one who came up with the logo for our baked-goods business last year, for instance—the one that’s now on the sign outside the shop.
On the front of the menu is a drawing of an old-fashioned ice cream parlor, complete with the words “Heinz’s Restaurant” arched over it. At the bottom is the address: “Main Street, Deep Valley, Minnesota.”
The best part is the fake ads, though. There’s a border of them all around the inside of the menu—Deep Valley High Class of 1910, Bob Ray’s shoe store, the Melborn Hotel, Magic Wavers curlers, singing lessons with Mrs. Poppy, that sort of thing. On the back cover is a collage of artwork by Lois Lenski and Vera Neville, who illustrated the series.
“Good work, girls,” says my mom, tucking hers into her purse. “Mother will love this. I’ll add it to the scrapbook.”
“Here’s a question for the book club,” says Mr. Hawthorne. “What do you think it is that makes these Betsy-Tacy books worth reading, all these years after they were published?” He glances around the room at us. “From a novelist’s perspective, it’s a fascinating question. I can’t help but wonder if people will be reading my books decades from now with the same kind of enthusiasm that you’re reading Lovelace’s.”
“Girls, do you want to field that question?” asks Mrs. Hawthorne, adding in a stage whisper, “Put your hand down, Emma! Let someone else have a turn.”
We all look at one another. Cassidy shrugs. “I can tell you what I think, I guess. For me, they’re just real stories about real girls. It’s kind of like things change, but they don’t, you know? I mean, it’s 1910, they get all excited about the first automobile in town, they pouf up their hair in this weird style—”
“It’s called a pompadour,” says Megan.
“—and wear long dresses and stuff, but I think I could really be friends with someone like Betsy.”
“Yeah, anybody who thinks geometry is ‘about as much fun as going to the dentist’ is a kindred spirit,” I add.
“Wait a minute, I liked geometry!” says Jess.
“You would,” I retort, but I smile to make sure she knows I’m just joking.
“So what you’re saying is that it’s the insides of the characters—their emotions and feelings—that you connect with, not the time period in which a book is set?” Emma’s father continues.
We all nod, and Mr. Hawthorne takes his notebook out of his shirt pocket again and jots something down, which makes me wonder if maybe we’re going to be in his next book.
“Enough talk! Time to eat,” says Gigi.
Even though I’m so full of salmon and potatoes and soup and everything else I can hardly move, somehow I manage to load up a few forkfuls of goodies and dip them into the luscious melted chocolate.
A few minutes later Stanley Kinkaid taps his knife against his water glass. “Clementine and I would like to make an announcement!”
This is it, I think. The decision on California!
Across the table from me, Cassidy calmly dips her fondue fork into the pot again. If she’s nervous, she sure isn’t showing it. They must have told her already.
Deep down, I’m really hoping she goes. I have to admit I’d miss her—we’re about as different as two people can be, but I admire her spunk, and book club would never be the same without her, that’s for sure. Still, if Cassidy moves back to California, I might finally have a chance at Zach Norton.
“Clemmie?” says her stepfather, turning to Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid. “Would you like to do the honors?”
Cassidy’s mother raises her glass. “A toast to my beautiful daughter Courtney, who got engaged on Christmas Eve!”
There’s a collective gasp around the table.
“Engaged? Really, Clementine!” says my mother, ever the wet blanket. “Isn’t she awfully young for such a major life decision?”
Cassidy’s mother is unflappable. “That’s right, Calliope, she is. But I wasn’t all that much older when I met her father, and at any rate the plan is for them both to finish school first. Grant is a senior and will be graduating this year, and then he’s heading to law school. He wants to be an entertainment lawyer. Getting his degree should keep him busy while Courtney is finishing up at UCLA.”
“There’s no love like young love,” says Gigi.
What about California? I think, looking over at Cassidy, who is poker-faced. Chloe is sitting on her lap, smeared all over with chocolate. She’s getting sleepy now, her eyes drooping as she leans back against her big sister. I’ll definitely miss Chloe if they move.
“It’s so romantic, getting engaged on Christmas Eve,” says Emma, sighing. She turns to Cassidy. “Don’t you think?”
Cassidy doesn’t reply.
“What did the ring look like?” Jess asks her.
Cassidy frowns and stabs her fondue fork into a piece of banana. From the looks of it, she’s not too thrilled at the idea of her sister getting married, even if the wedding is a few years away. “I can’t remember.”
“It’s platinum,” says her mother. “A beautiful vintage art deco setting that belonged to Grant’s great-grandmother.”
A chorus of sighs go up around both tables from all the females. The dads shake their heads, and Darcy and Stewart look downright uncomfortable. I think all this talk about weddings is making them nervous.
“So many changes ahead,” says Mrs. Delaney. “Stewart and Darcy heading off to college next year, Courtney getting engaged—and how about California? Have you made a decision on the job, Stanley?”
Here it comes, I think. Finally.
Mr. Kinkaid glances over at Cassidy. “Would you like to tell everybody?”
She nods and passes Chloe to him, then pushes back from the table and stands up. I have to tilt my head back to see her face. There’s just such a lot of Cassidy Sloane.
“My family has decided—” she begins, and I cross my fingers under the table as she pauses dramatically.
“—to stay here in Concord.”
Everyone cheers but me. I just sigh and uncross my fingers.
All the noise startles Chloe, who starts to cry. Cassidy takes her back from her stepfather and hugs her close. “No, no, monkey-face, it’s okay. It’s good news!”
“Don’t call her monkey-face,” says her mother automatically.
Cassidy sits down again. “They made me promise not to say anything,” she tells us.
“We decided a couple days ago, but thought it would be fun to wait and tell you all tonight,” Stanley explains.
“A New Year’s Eve present,” says Gigi.
“Exactly,” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid.
I try and look on the bright side. Now that they’re staying, I’ll still get to babysit Chloe. That’s a definite plus. And it’s not a sure thing with Zach and Cassidy, is it? She hasn’t said anything one way or the other, and there are always twists and
turns in the Winding Hall of Fate. Maybe I still have a chance.
“There’ve been a lot of changes under our roof these past few years,” Cassidy’s mother continues. “First David’s passing, then the move across the country and the TV show, and—”
“Don’t forget me and Chloe,” says Mr. Kinkaid.
“I could never forget you and Chloe,” she replies, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “At any rate, we decided it would be better for our family if we stay put for a while, at least until Cassidy’s finished high school.”
“Speaking of change,” says Mrs. Hawthorne, “do you realize it’s been almost five years since we started this club? A lot has happened since that very first meeting.”
“I happened!” says Gigi, which makes everybody laugh.
“You certainly did, Mother,” says Mrs. Wong. “And the tea shop happened too.”
“So did Mrs. Bergson,” says Emma loyally.
“A toast to Mrs. Bergson!” cries Mrs. Hawthorne, and we all raise our punch cups in her memory.
“And I joined the Lady Shawmuts and started Chicks with Sticks,” says Cassidy.
“And we moved to England,” says Emma.
“And I went to boarding school,” says Jess.
“And don’t forget the fashion show,” Megan adds.
I’m quiet, thinking about some of the changes in my life since I’ve been part of the book club. Getting my braces on . . . getting my braces off . . . joining the cheerleading squad . . . going to Spring Formal with Zach. And my dad losing his job, of course.
“Enough of this auld lang syne stuff,” says Mr. Wong. “Isn’t it time for Megan to get her ornament?”
Jess leans over and reaches into her purse. “Megan already knows I was her Secret Santa,” she says, handing over a small wrapped package.
Inside is a tiny, old-fashioned sewing machine. “I love it!” says Megan. “Thanks, Jess.”
“Read us the card,” says her mother.
“‘To Miss Mix from Mrs. Ray—I’ll be calling on your services often in the year ahead. My girls are growing up, and will soon be off to the Great World. Sincerely, Mrs. Ray.’”
My mother suddenly disappears under the table. “I almost forgot, girls,” she says, her voice muffled. “I have something for all of you from my mother.” She reappears clutching a bunch of small, peppermint-striped gift bags. “A parting gift as we say farewell to Betsy-Tacy,” she adds, passing them out.
Inside are more ornaments, a tiny glass pitcher for each of us with something written on the side in gold script: The nicest present is the present of a friend.
“You’ll get to see the real pitcher, the one Tacy gave Betsy—I mean Bick gave Maud—when you visit Mankato next spring, Becca,” my mother tells me.
“Lucky you,” says Stewart under his breath. I hold up my fondue fork, and we fence across the table.
There’s a loud knock at the door, and we all jump.
“Who could that be?” asks Gigi, her dark eyes sparkling as she scurries over to answer it.
“Ho-ho-ho,” says a deep voice.
“SANTA!” crows Chloe, as a tall figure in a red suit comes striding in. He’s got a sack slung over his back, and above the white beard I detect a pair of familiar blue eyes. It’s Zach Norton! I look over at Megan, puzzled.
“What’s he doing here?” I whisper, but she just smiles.
There’s someone else with him too. A tall skinny someone dressed from head to toe in green. Under the peaked elf hat I spot a pair of thick, owlish glasses. It’s Kevin Mullins. He waves at Jess.
“This is my helper,” says Santa Zach, his beard slipping slightly. Readjusting it, he throws in another “Ho-ho-ho.” “We’re looking for the Chadwicks. Sorry we’re a week late, but my reindeer flew off course, and it took us a while to find our way back here from the South Pole.”
My mother raises her hand, gamely playing along. “I’m Mrs. Chadwick.”
Santa Zach plunks the sack down in front of her. “This is for you and your family,” he tells her. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” squeaks Kevin, waving at Jess again. Beside her, Darcy is grinning hugely. He gets a kick out of Kevin.
“SANTA!” hollers Chloe again, and Zach pats her on the head.
“Would Santa and his helper like to stay for chocolate fondue?” Gigi asks them.
“Sure,” says Zach in his normal voice, plunking himself down beside Cassidy. She whispers something in his ear, and his face splits into a grin. They give each other a high five.
The joy that had bloomed inside of me at the sight of him slowly deflates. She must have told him about California. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then tell myself it’s time to adjust to the new reality. Zach likes Cassidy. Cassidy probably likes Zach back. Get over it. Move on.
Easier said than done, of course, but I slap a smile on my face and promise myself that things will get better next year. Which starts in exactly eight minutes, according to the countdown clock on the TV.
“What on earth is in here?” says my mother, prodding the lumps and bulges in the Santa sack.
“Why don’t you open it and find out?” Mrs. Hawthorne tells her.
My mother reaches inside and pulls out a big envelope. As she begins to read the card it contains, her eyes widen and her face turns red. Not a happy Santa-suit red, though. A much angrier shade.
Uh-oh, I think.
“Who told you?” she snaps, slapping the card down onto the table.
Told her what? I wonder. What’s going on?
Mrs. Hawthorne looks taken aback. “Uh, well . . .” Her voice trails off.
My father picks up the card and reads it as my mother scans the room. “You have absolutely no right to interfere in our family’s business,” she says stiffly.
My eyes slide over to Megan, who’s gone a peculiar shade of greenish-white. “You didn’t!” I whisper. “You promised not to say anything!”
“I didn’t think it would be that big a deal!” she whispers back.
She should know my mother better than that by now.
“Calliope, there’s nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about,” Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid begins.
“I am neither embarrassed nor ashamed, Clementine,” my mother replies icily. “I am simply trying to maintain my family’s dignity and privacy. I’ll thank you all to mind your own business.”
An awkward silence falls over the tea shop. Out of the corner of my eye I see the clock on the television ticking away toward midnight.
“We meant well,” says Mrs. Hawthorne finally. “Really, we did.”
“Does this mean you knew about Pirate Pete, too?” my father asks.
“Uh—” says Mr. Wong.
“Great. Just great. You’ve all had a good laugh behind our backs, I’m sure.” My mother throws her napkin down and pushes back from the table. “Henry? We’re going home. I refuse to sit here and be humiliated any longer. We’re the laughingstock of Concord.”
My father picks up the card and reads it again. Reaching over, he takes my mother’s hand. “Perhaps we can give our friends the benefit of the doubt, Calliope,” he says gently, tugging her back down into her seat.
“Everyone goes through hard times,” says Mrs. Delaney. “We certainly did.” She looks at Mr. Delaney and smiles, then turns back to my parents. “Please, just take a look at what’s inside the bag.”
My mother and father exchange a glance. My father gives my mother an encouraging nod, and she reaches reluctantly into the Santa sack again, pulling out more envelopes and brightly wrapped boxes. She and my father open them one by one. Inside are gift certificates: a six months’ supply of fresh fruit, vegetables, eggs, jam, and goat cheese from Half Moon Farm; a VIP “unlimited lunch” pass at Pies & Prejudice; a weekend getaway at the Edelweiss Inn, complete with dog-sitting for Yo-Yo at Half Moon Farm; a request for a landscaping makeover at the Hawthornes’.
“Now that I’ve sold my second novel,” says
Emma’s father, “Phoebe and I decided we want to spruce things up at home. The yard was starting to look a little shabby. And who better to consult with than our favorite almost newly minted landscape designer?”
The corner of my mother’s mouth quirks up at this. “Thank you.”
“And speaking of consulting, there should be a green envelope in there as well,” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid.
My father peers into the bag. He pulls it out and hands it to my mother. She reads it, then glances over at Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid. “You’d do this for me, Clementine? Really?”
“Absolutely. It’s what friends are for.”
My mother shows the card to my father. There’s a real smile on her face now, and the angry reddish color is subsiding. “Clementine recommended me as a gardening consultant for her show.”
“Lily’s done an outstanding job for us with organic food sourcing, and it occurred to me that I could use some expert help in the garden arena as well. This isn’t charity, Calliope—you’ll be a wonderful resource.”
My father shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“A simple thank-you will do,” Mr. Wong replies. “You know you’d do the same if it were one of us.” He points to the tiny glass pitcher that’s sitting in front of Megan. “The nicest present is the present of a friend, remember?”
A hint of a sparkle returns to my father’s eye. “Well, I must admit I’m looking forward to retiring Pirate Pete,” he says.
My hands, which I hadn’t realized I’d been clenching tightly in my lap throughout this whole exchange, start to relax. It’s going to be okay. My mother watches with a rueful expression on her face as my father pulls his eye patch from his shirt pocket and pops it on. “Aaaargh!” he says.
“Cool!” says Ryan. Or maybe it’s Dylan—I still have trouble telling them apart. “Can I try it on?”
“Aye, matey,” my father replies, handing it to him.
I stand up. This is as good a time as any to add my two cents.
“Mom—Dad—I didn’t know about the Secret Santa gifts tonight, but I have a surprise for you too.” I glance over at Megan’s grandmother. “I’ve been talking to Gigi, and she’s offered me a part-time job as a waitress here at Pies & Prejudice.”
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