PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
Whitney Gaskell
WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT
“Gaskell’s novel depicts the fear and heartbreak that accompanies infertility with an emotional adeptness that few other authors could produce.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“When You Least Expect It is a book once you start, you will not put down until the last page is read.”
—Me, My Book, and the Couch
“Competently done and appropriately affirmative.”
—Publishers Weekly
“When You Least Expect It is clever, poignant, and refreshing. The crisp writing, smart voice, and strong dialogue make it a fast-paced, engrossing read. Gaskell’s latest is hard to put down!”
—Jane Porter, author of Easy on the Eyes
“With her signature wit, charm, and irresistible voice, Whitney Gaskell knocks it out of the park with this emotional powerhouse of a novel about—above all things—hope.”
—Melissa Senate, author of The Secret of Joy
“Whitney Gaskell has so much talent it makes me want to throw myself through a plate glass window. I loved When You Least Expect It. Whitney brings us through all the heartache and triumph of the adoption process with relatable characters, memorable scenes, and much needed humor.”
—Kim Gruenenfelder, author of Misery Loves Cabernet
GOOD LUCK
“Money doesn’t buy happiness, but you’ll have a blast reading along as Lucy (with her $87 million) learns that lesson.”
—Redbook
“Gaskell has crafted an emotional roller coaster of a novel. The highs are funny and furious, and the lows will tug at readers’ heartstrings as they relish this superb tale of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“Frothy wish-fulfillment fantasy.”
—Publishers Weekly
MOMMY TRACKED
“There are few periods more challenging for women than the pre-school years, and this compassionate novel captures that time in all its endearing, slovenly, enchanting glory.”
—BookPage
“An excellent read … Gaskell has so many fine points in this book, it was hard to put it down.”
—Coffee Time Romance
“[This book] celebrates motherhood, marriage, and friendship with humor and vibrant insight.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Poignant, funny, and peppered with snappy dialogue, Mommy Tracked is a great addition to the friendship book list, which includes Waiting to Exhale, The Circle of Five, and The Dirty Girls Social Club.”
—Booklist
“It’s like reading a really juicy grown-up Judy Blume book.”
—WackyMommy
“Filled with humor, charm, and richly developed characters.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A laugh-out-loud, witty view of motherhood.”
—Romantic Times
TESTING KATE
“Whitney Gaskell delivers a vibrant story and memorable characters that will appeal to chicklit and women’s fiction readers.… This storyline about the first year of law school remains fresh yet familiar in the capable hands of Gaskell.… Testing Kate is a testament to the remarkable skill of its author to turn a stressful situation like law school into a delightful novel.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Gaskell … relives the high school–like atmosphere with sharp dialogue and various forays into New Orleans culture.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A very readable, enjoyable story, and readers will root for Kate all the way through and cheer her decisions at the end.”
—Romance Reviews Today
SHE, MYSELF & I
“Smart, funny, sexy, and refreshingly real … unputdownable.”
—Melissa Senate, author of See Jane Date
“Engagingly written.”
—The Boston Globe
“A warm, funny, charming, and engrossing story that will hook anyone who has a sister—and any lover of quality fiction who doesn’t.”
—Valerie Frankel, author of Fringe Benefits
“A gossipy, funny book about women you’ll think you’ve met.”
—The Facts
“Engaging … rapid page-flipping reading … Funny, intelligent, and rational, this book is a joy to read.”
—Curled Up with a Good Book
“A fresh, clever story about cold feet, morning sickness, and the one who got away.”
—Beth Kendrick, author of Second Time Around
“Will appeal to readers of both chicklit and women’s fiction … You’ll find yourself laughing up a storm.… This reviewer is not only searching for the author’s backlist, but is also anxiously awaiting her future releases.”
—A Romance Review
“A witty, fast-paced, and intensely entertaining journey through the lives of three unforgettable sisters. Whitney Gaskell finds the humor and the heart in each and every one of her characters, a talent that makes the pages come to life and literally turn themselves.”
—Lindsay Faith Rech, author of Losing It
“Whitney Gaskell delivers another winner. As funny as it is warm and touching, this is going on my keeper shelf along with all of Whitney’s books. Filled with her trademark mixture of humor and poignancy, it made me laugh, cry, and wish I had sisters! Can’t wait for the next one!”
—Lani Diane Rich, author of Wish You Were Here
TRUE LOVE (AND OTHER LIES)
“Funny, romantic … an entertaining read with all the right stuff.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A hilarious story about love and friendships … A compelling, thought-provoking and nevertheless entertaining book … breezy, delightful, and well worth reading.”
—The Best Reviews
“Witty, honest, and refreshingly fun.”
—Roundtable Reviews
PUSHING 30
“Feisty, poignant, sexy, and packed with delicious comedy.”
—Sue Margolis, author of Forget Me Knot
“A breezy romp.”
—The Miami Herald
“A sprightly debut … breezy prose, sharp wit … a delightful romantic comedy heroine.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Gaskell takes a familiar ‘oh-no’ chicklit theme and turns it sprightly on its ear.… What sets Pushing 30 apart from others in the genre is Gaskell’s sharp writing and skillful handling of many plot strands as it weaves into a cohesive, thoroughly satisfying read.”
—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“Gaskell’s characters are funny and sexy as she incorporates serious issues of female friendships, family demands, and personal choices into her story.”
—Rendezvous
“Witty and fast-paced, it’s great chicklit.”
—BookReporter
Table for Seven is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Bantam Books eBook Edition
Copyright © 2013 by Whitney Gaskell
Excerpt from When You Least Expect It
copyright © 2010 by Whitney Gaskell
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Gaskell, Whitney.
Table for seven : a novel / Whitney Gas
kell.
pages cm
eISBN: 978-0-345-53577-1
1. New Year—Fiction. 2. Dinners and dining—Fiction. 3. Clubs—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.A7854.T33 2012
813′.6—dc23 2011044940
www.bantamdell.com
Cover design: Regina Starace
Cover images: © Lisa Romerein/Getty Images (table); © Michal Krakowiak/Getty Images (landscape)
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
January
February
March
April
May
June
September
October
November
December
Dedication
Excerpt from When You Least Expect It
Other Books by This Author
About the Author
january
TEQUILA SHRIMP
ARUGULA, FENNEL, AND ORANGE SALAD
SEARED SCALLOPS WITH BUTTER SAUCE OVER TARRAGON RICE
CHEESE PLATE
WHITE CHOCOLATE-RASPBERRY CRÈME BRÛLÉE TARTLETS
FRAN WAS THE ONE who first suggested a New Year’s Eve dinner party. But it was Will’s idea to serve a different course every hour, on the hour, counting down to midnight.
“Then, for the last course, we can have something like cherries jubilee, which we’ll light up at the stroke of midnight,” Will said.
“Cherries jubilee?” Fran repeated doubtfully. Cherries jubilee reminded her of fusty country club dining rooms, the sort that were always decorated in shades of mauve and served the food buffet-style, with carving stations where thick slabs of chewy, flavorless roast beef were hacked off for each diner.
“Or something else that we can serve flambé,” Will said. “Bananas Foster? Baked Alaska?”
“What’s this sudden fascination with desserts that are on fire?” Fran asked, paging through The French Laundry Cookbook. A few of the pages were stained with what looked like splattered olive oil. Fran had a habit of propping cookbooks too close to the stove when she cooked.
“Just think: The clock strikes midnight, it’s the first minute of the New Year, and we celebrate by turning off all the lights and serving a flaming dessert.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of white chocolate–raspberry crème brûlée tartlets,” Fran said. “But I like the idea of serving a course every hour, on the hour. Do you think that would be hard to pull off?”
“I’ll help,” Will said, sealing this promise with a chaste kiss on Fran’s cheek. Then, whistling cheerily, he headed off to the garage to continue work on his latest combat robot, leaving Fran to plan everything herself.
Fran paged through her extensive collection of cookbooks, looking for inspiration, while she considered the guest list. Jaime and Mark Wexler. Audrey, obviously, although she was going to be defensive if she was the only single person at a party of couples. Fran tried to think of any other single people she knew—and if it was a man, it couldn’t be someone Audrey suspected Fran was trying to set her up with, another area on which her best friend was ridiculously touchy—and then she thought of her next-door neighbor Leland McCullogh. He was a widower in his seventies—which meant he was about thirty years older than the others—but Leland was witty and charming and would make an excellent addition to the dinner party.
Fran stood and padded barefoot to the garage, where Will sat hunched in concentration over his workbench.
“What do you think of inviting the Wexlers, Audrey, and Leland from next door to our New Year’s Eve dinner party? Six is a good number, right?” Fran asked.
Will didn’t give any indication that he had heard her.
“Will?” Fran said.
“Hmm?” Will said, still not looking up.
“I started a grease fire in the kitchen. The house is going up in flames. What should I do?” Fran asked.
“The fire extinguisher is right over there,” Will said, waving vaguely toward the shelving that lined the back wall of the garage. “See? I’m not ignoring you.”
“Very convincing,” Fran said. “What do you think of the guest list?”
“Sounds fine,” Will said. He picked up a hunk of metal—part of his latest combat robot, Fran assumed, although Will’s creations always looked more like metal boxes than C-3PO—and secured it in a vise.
“Can you think of anyone else we should invite?” Fran asked.
“Nope.” Will picked up a screwdriver and held it over the robot like a surgeon contemplating his first cut.
Fran waited a beat or two, but Will didn’t give any indication that he was going to join the conversation they were having. She turned.
“Coop,” Will said.
“What?” Fran turned back.
“Coop,” Will said again. “Didn’t I tell you? He’s in town.”
“Wait. What? Coop’s here? In our town?” Fran asked. An image of Coop—sexy Coop with his tanned face and pale gray eyes, the hair on his arms bleached white from hours spent out on his boat—flashed through her thoughts.
“Yes,” Will said. “I thought I told you.”
“No,” Fran said. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s living here. He rented an apartment on the beach.”
“Okay, put down the screwdriver, and start from the beginning,” Fran said.
Will looked up, blinked at her, and set the screwdriver down on his workbench.
“Coop’s living here,” he said again.
“Yes, you said that. Now I want to hear the rest of it. What is Coop doing here? When did he move here? Why haven’t you told me about this before?” Fran asked.
“He’s editing some film he’s working on. I think it has something to do with coastal tides. They shot it up near Nova Scotia. He said it was freezing, and that he was glad to be back in Florida,” Will said.
“I can imagine. But why is he here in Ocean Falls? What happened to Miami?”
“He sold his condo before he left for the shoot, so he decided to rent up here while he’s in postproduction. I thought I told you all of this,” Will added, looking longingly at his robot.
“No,” Fran said. “You didn’t. How long is he in town for?”
“No idea. Indefinitely, I think.”
“We should have him over.”
“That’s what I was suggesting. Invite him to the dinner party.”
“You think?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Wouldn’t he think a dinner party was boring and suburban?”
“No way. We’re hip and cool,” Will said. But that was just it, Fran thought. They were not hip and cool. They didn’t live in Brooklyn, and have tattoos, and name their children Fifi or Zola. Will was a city planner, Fran was a physical therapist, and they spent their weekends grocery shopping, mowing the lawn, and chauffeuring their two daughters to soccer and dance practices. “What about Audrey?”
“What about her?”
“If we invite her and we invite Coop, she’ll jump to the conclusion that I’m trying to set her up with him,” Fran said.
“That’s because you’re always trying to set her up.”
“No, I’m not.”
“The last time we were at the grocery store, you accosted some guy in the deli meat line—”
“I did not accost him!”
“—and asked him if he would be interested in going out with Audrey,” Will finished.
“He wasn’t a stranger. His son was on the same soccer team as Rory, back when they were little. I just couldn’t remember his name. We all called him Cute Single Dad Guy,” Fran said.
“Except now he’s married,” Will said.
“How was I supposed to know that? I haven’t seen the man in five years,” Fran said.
“He was wearing a wedding band.”
“Whatever. Anyway, Audrey needs a little push to get back ou
t there. Ryan’s been gone for, what, seven years now?”
“Wow, has it been that long?”
“Yeah, it has. Remember? Iris was in first grade, and so was at school, but Rory was just a toddler. I had the hardest time finding a babysitter to watch her while we went to the funeral.”
“I don’t remember that,” Will said.
“I do. Anyway, she’s been alone for a long time. Long enough.”
“Maybe Audrey’s not ready for another relationship. You can’t prescribe how long a person is allowed to grieve for.”
“Yes, I can. Seven years is objectively too long. If you died, I’d give it a year, tops, before I started dating,” Fran said.
“Wow, a whole year? I’m touched,” Will said.
“What do we do about Coop and Audrey?”
“Why do we have to do anything about them? We invite them both, and if Audrey doesn’t want to come because there’s a single man there, that’s her choice. Unless … wait.” Will held up one hand. “I just had the most brilliant idea.”
“Uh-oh,” Fran said.
“No, wait for it. We tell Audrey that Coop is gay.”
Fran blinked, nonplussed. “Why would we do that?”
“Because that way Audrey won’t think she’s being set up. And it will be an excellent way to get back at Coop for telling Kelly Feinstein that I lost both testicles in a freak BB gun accident so she’d go out with him instead of me,” Will said.
“What? When did that happen?” Fran asked.
“Tenth grade. But it’s never too late for payback,” Will said.
“I don’t know,” Fran said. “Won’t Audrey be able to tell he’s not gay?”
“How would she?”
“Coop is just very …” Fran stopped. She could feel her cheeks go warm.
“Very what?”
Adjectives that could be applied to Coop began flashing through Fran’s thoughts. Hilarious. Flirtatious. Incredibly sexy.
“Heterosexual,” Fran said.
“No, trust me, she’ll never figure it out.” Will was eyeing his robot with impatience.
“Should I call Coop? Or do you want to?”
“Sure. Whatever you want,” Will said, his screwdriver again hovering in the air, ready to get to work.
Table for Seven: A Novel Page 1