In a Book Club Far Away

by Tif Marcelo

  Sophie crossed her arms. “I cannot believe you just did that. One of us could have helped you.”

  “I’m fine,” she uttered, though she had to catch her breath first, her eyes solely on her daughter. “Hey, baby girl.”

  Regina brought Genevieve closer.

  Genevieve stuck her arms out and leaned out of Regina’s grasp. “Carry me, Mama.”

  “Whoa there, not yet,” Regina said softly.

  “Oh, I so wish, sweetheart.” A primal mothering urge rose within Adelaide. She wanted to take Genevieve into her arms, stick her in a pocket like a joey to keep her safe.

  “Just another day or so, okay?” Sophie said, more to Adelaide than to Genevieve.

  Adelaide looked around at her house. Her daughter’s toys were not in the normal places, and little tokens of her friends’ things were littered all over the living room. Their purses and jackets hung at the foyer umbrella stand. On her pedestal table were books and receipts.

  Almost an entire week had passed, and life had gone on. Her house still stood. Her daughter was taken care of.

  It was both a shock and a relief to Adelaide’s system that the world continued to spin without her. Yes, she had full confidence her friends could handle the task, but to see it…

  She had placed so much pressure on herself to keep the home fires burning, to be absolutely indispensable, but she was dispensable. Things were all right without her.

  Tears clouded Adelaide’s vision.

  Sophie looked around, as if she were checking for a fire. “What’s wrong? What did we do?”

  “Nothing.” Adelaide couldn’t put into words that she was both relieved and disappointed that everything was better than okay.

  “I know what it is.” Regina made her way to the kitchen. “You’re hungry. You need calories to heal. Well, don’t you worry. I read up on the dietary restrictions of someone who’s had your surgery, and most of what I made this morning is bland and soft and without any kind of substantial deliciousness, but exactly what you need.”

  “How about you head to the back deck?” Sophie added. “Getting some cool fresh air might be good for you. I can bring one of your blankets out.”

  “Agreed. I’ll bring the food out.” Regina set Genevieve down and disappeared around the corner.

  “That sounds great.” Adelaide began her shuffle to the back of the house, passing her L-shaped couch with Waiting to Exhale cracked open upside down. It looked like Sophie was halfway through the book.

  A grin threatened to burst from her lips. The plan was working. She’d caught Regina reading the book at the hospital when she spent the night, and now Sophie. And—she realized—she herself had better catch up.

  Genevieve got ahead of her and started to tug at the door. “Hold on, baby,” she said, looking down, noticing that the top of Genevieve’s head was as tall as the windowsill. Had she grown overnight?

  And then she remembered. Genevieve was turning two this weekend.

  Two.

  When Adelaide had canceled Genevieve’s party a couple of weeks ago in preparation for her surgery, she’d been filled with regret. She’d waited to become a mother for a long time and was committed to celebrating every milestone.

  But even she knew she had her limits.

  Adelaide opened the door and gently sat down on a cushioned chair, while Genevieve pushed her trucks across the slats of wood on the deck. Regina came out first with a tray and set it down on the table in front of Adelaide. On the tray was a book, her copy of Waiting to Exhale. She recognized the first edition with its well-cracked spine.

  “Oatmeal and Waiting to Exhale. And I think I’m ahead of you in the reading,” she said.

  Adelaide raised her eyebrows. “That was your book on the couch?”

  “Yes. A certain somebody kept nagging me to read. As if we weren’t in the same book club.”

  “But, if I remember correctly, Sophie and I took to finishing a book in a few days, and you liked to stretch it out for weeks.”

  “I liked to take advantage of the full deadline. And also.” Regina handed Adelaide her phone. “You left this downstairs before you went to bed last night, so I charged it for you. And I noticed you have a ton of phone calls to return. I swear you and Sophie are the queens of avoidance. What’s been going on?”

  That got her attention. “What do you mean, me and Sophie?”

  “Am I the only one who notices things around here?” Regina snorted a laugh. “You need to call your mother.”

  Adelaide knew her mother had been trying to reach her, but she hadn’t had the nerve to call back.

  “What’s going on?”

  She picked up her spoon. “I can’t put it into words. I’ve been feeling conflicted about life in general for a while, and with surgery and emergency surgery, things have, I don’t know, shifted. I told Matt that I don’t want another baby.”

  Regina leaned back in the chair. “Wow. What did he say?”

  “He was sad, and I don’t blame him. I figured that he would be shocked and would need some time to process, and we’d talk about it some more. Matt and I—we talk about everything. My mother on the other hand…” She stirred her oatmeal. Steam rose above the bowl. But Adelaide was far from hungry. On the contrary, she felt full. Full of confusion, of thoughts, of new ideas and possibilities. “I don’t want this whole situation, the way I feel, to become like one of those informercials we used to watch.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Like the more I watch one, the more I soften to the idea, and then soon I’m buying the two-for-one special with added subscription.” She sniffed a laugh, remembering the Orange Glo and the Snuggie and countless other things that she’d bought over the years. “I don’t want to accept my feelings as status quo and ignore them.”

  “Look, Ad. I lost my marriage. Not my fault, I know. I wasn’t the one who couldn’t keep it in my pants. But I learned from it, too. I learned that if you don’t hit the topic straight on, there’s so much room to avoid, and so much room to lie.”

  Adelaide stuck a scalding spoonful in her mouth. If only you knew how right you are.

  Regina continued. “You know what to do. It’s the same thing that helped way back when. Keep speaking to Matt, to your mom, to me or Sophie. In fact, do it now. I’ll try to keep the old lady away.” She gestured at the glass door with Sophie’s outline at the kitchen table.

  “You did not just call her an old lady.”

  Regina shrugged. “We’re all older now. Just calling it like it is.” And before she stood, she handed the phone to Adelaide. “Call your mother.”

  Adelaide found her mother’s number in her recent-call list, pressed the call-back button, and put the phone against her ear.

  “Adelaide.” Patricia Wilson’s enunciation of her name was its own tune. From it, Adelaide knew that while her mother was happy to hear from her, she was in a little bit of trouble.

  “Hello, Mama.”

  “I was worried. I left a lot of messages with you and with the hospital and—”

  “I know, Mama, and I am sorry. It’s been a rough few days.”

  Patricia sighed. It was breathy, the kind that said that she was frustrated. “But you’re okay now?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  It was her standard answer to her mother: Yes, ma’am. Of course. I agree. All versions of agreements, of yeses, of her being all right. But as soon as Adelaide said it, she knew she was lying.

  “Actually, I’m not fine, Mama.”

  “Tell me, baby.”

  “I wanna know how you did it. How you just grinned and bore the Army life. And how you made gravy out of grease.”

  She was answered with silence, followed by a full-on cackle. Adelaide took the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. Yep, she was definitely talking to her mother.

  It had been a while since she’d heard her mother’s laughter. “Are you… okay?”

  “Oh, baby, if you feel like that’s what I did, I sure
pulled the wool over your eyes. I did not always grin and bear it. And most days were greasy and just plain messy.”

  “Really? It always felt… perfect. Like you had it together.”

  “Looking isn’t always the same as being.”

  “I know that.” Adelaide worried her lip. She and her mother had discussed the Army life often, and she’d heard everything, every story, every warning. Patricia had passed down all the rules, the etiquette.

  “What’s going on, sweetheart?” As usual, her mother heard right through her questions.

  “I just find myself not wanting the things I used to want. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “These things you now want, are they productive? Are they good?”

  “That’s the problem—I’m not sure what those things are yet, except that I want different. But what if they’re not what Matt wants? You know the Army, so many things are laid out in front of us, and its needs, my husband’s needs, come first.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line, then her mother’s voice piped in, loud and angry. “Do you know the term I hate the most? The word dependent. It’s what they call us, the spouses, the children. We are associated with the sponsor, and all your life, you were linked to your father’s social security number as a dependent, and now to your husband’s. It really does give a skewed impression of where we rank, doesn’t it?”

  Adelaide hummed an agreement.

  “Of course we love your father and Matt and our lives. We also understand the mission. It’s not a question of love or appreciation, so I hear you, Adelaide. Sometimes we get lost in the sauce. Who we are, where we stand, whose career takes precedence. People assume that since we knew what we married, that we should simply accept. And sadly and wrongly, we believe what these people say at times.

  “Well, it’s okay to wonder. It’s okay to try to figure it out. And you might be surprised at how well Matt might come along. Here’s what I like to think. We’re called dependents because the service member depends on us. Without us, how do they have that support, that extra bit of love? Without us, what is there to defend or fight for?”

  Adelaide pressed her hands against her face, now wet with tears. “I miss you, Mama.”

  “I know. I miss you, too. I regret not being there—”

  Adelaide shook her head. “Daddy—”

  “Your father, if able, would tell me he wished we were both there, too. That’s how much we care about you, and how proud we are. We’re proud of you and all of the choices you’ve made, and the choices you will make. Don’t you forget it.” In the background, the doorbell rang. “Sweetie, I have the visiting nurse here. I’ve got to go. But call me soon? Don’t wait so long next time.”

  “Yes, Mama. I love you. And thank you.”

  “Love you, baby girl. And tell my Genevieve I love her.”

  Adelaide glanced up as Genevieve toddled to the sandbox. She stuck her fingers in the sand, scooped them up, and watched the grains cascade out of her fingers.

  “I will.”

  She hung up and turned to the French doors, where her friends lingered in the kitchen, and then down to her oatmeal, which was now undoubtedly cold. Her tummy rumbled with renewed vigor. It was time to get better, and to be better.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Regina

  “I just couldn’t believe Sophie’s audacity,” Regina said to Henry later that night, voice croaking. Her fingers and forearms strained with the weight of the bags of decorations she was carrying. “To assume that I could just forget.” She stopped, then set the bags down. “Can we rest for a sec?”

  “Sure.” Henry rotated slowly, tipping sideways to balance the mesh cornhole game tucked under one arm and the toddler bowling set under the other. “Let me get this straight. Because of what Sophie did, you and your ex were transferred to Georgia.”

  She’d been explaining the complicated story of her and Sophie’s friendship and the blowup that basically ended it, the details she’d skipped in their DMs. “That’s the short of it.”

  “But you were already hoping to move there.”

  “Yes, because both our parents lived in the state, but Logan was rushed out, essentially right after I gave birth to Miko, which was complete chaos.”

  “And you had proof that it was Sophie who put the nail in the coffin.”

  She lifted the bags again and grunted. “Not technically, but yes.”

  “But not technically.”

  She speared him a look.

  “Look, we have scales in the kitchen for a specific reason. Cups of flour end up drastically different depending on who’s measuring them. And now that I’ve changed the subject I have an idea,” he said. “How about we drop this off at the shop to keep it out of sight? I don’t think everything will fit in the trunk of your car.”

  “You sure?” Regina sighed, then picked her bags back up. They resumed their slow trudge toward Burg Street. “I really should have planned this better. I should have told you to stop me when I went above and beyond my list. Party stores are my catnip.”

  “When are you planning to put these up if Adelaide’s home?” He said over his shoulder.

  “My plan is to put Genevieve down for a nap as soon as Sophie and Adelaide leave for her appointment. It’s at Alexandria General, and they should take at least an hour if you include check-in time. I’ve got Missy—Adelaide’s friend—at the ready. She’ll bring her army of friends over after Adelaide’s gone to help me set up.”

  “I can try to be available, pending, of course, the schedule. And I’ve got storage at the shop. Not to worry.”

  “Have I said thank you already?”

  “You have.” He grinned. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

  “You are absolutely the best.”

  “Oh, yes. More.”

  “I owe you not just one, but two or three favors for how awesome you’ve been.”

  “I love it, keep them coming.” He laughed.

  “Don’t push your luck, buddy.” She rolled her eyes just for effect, though her body felt light despite the bags weighing her down. Henry knew how to speak to her, to inject levity and humor, and even some flirtation, in between the tough conversations. It helped to keep everything in perspective, including the kiss they shared the other night.

  “Still trucking back there? I can see the shop’s light!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  After the next block, they crossed the street, and with the awning of Just Cakes within view, they passed another shop that displayed a wedding dress with its skirt stretched to the width of the window. Regina slowed, eyeing the charm of it all. “I love that everything is right here on this street. Just Cakes”—she looked up at the wedding shop’s name—“Rings and Roses. La Cremerie. Old Town Flowers. Have I mentioned I wanted to live in this area? I wanted to get stationed here.”

  “You’re here now, sort of stationed. What do you all call it?”

  “TDY,” she said. “Temporary duty.”

  “TDY. So it worked out.” They’d made it to Just Cakes, and he set down the boxes to unlock the door.

  “It did.” But in the back of her mind, a thought arose. Was it too late, or too hasty, to do one more thing she wanted? “Do you know what they used to say?”

  “What did they used to say?” The bell rang with a chime as he stepped in.

  Regina followed him in, grunting. “What happens on TDY stays on TDY.”

  “Really now?” He set the boxes down, and he turned and eyed her. The look, and the fact that they were alone in a darkened space, caused her to shift her feet. She sucked in a breath to settle herself.

  He approached her, stopping less than a foot away. She stilled, the air around her warming. “Here, let me grab that from you,” he said. “I’ll make room behind the counter.”

  “Okay.” She swallowed the moment, orienting herself as he relieved her of the bags. She shook out her limbs as she watched him stack the decor. />
  “Would you like a tour? Of the kitchen?” he said after a few moments.

  And once again, the vibe changed. Curiosity took hold. This was the kitchen she’d seen in part through Just Cakes’ photo feed and stories. “Um, yes!”

  She followed him through the swinging door, to the impressive, sparkling-clean stainless steel commercial kitchen, with a center counter and three industrial mixers next to a floor mixer. “It’s so pretty in here.”

  “It’s a small space for six people, but it’s laid out nicely.” He waved her toward the back. “But if you want to see small, let me show you the office.”

  She stepped into the doorway. The office was as large as the guest bathroom in her mother’s home. “Whoa. This is tiny, but you’ve used the space well.” She scanned the shelving that went up to the ceiling, which held baskets and binders.

  “My sister is type A, as you can see.” Henry came around her. He snatched a pink Post-it stuck on the computer.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.” He brushed passed her, sighing, and as if relenting, showed her the Post-it. “A note from my sister.”

  Don’t be a slowpoke.

  “What does that mean?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s her way of giving me a hard time.”

  “Oh?”

  “Encouragement. To not be so nice, or I’ll be slotted into the friend zone.”

  “With whom?”

  “Who else? With you.”

  He gestured for her to take the lead, to exit. Regina mulled his words as they walked back through the kitchen. She thought of his honesty, of his ability to tell things like they were but without pressure or expectation. Laying a hand against the swinging kitchen door, she paused, compelled to return the sentiment. She looked up at him. “‘Nice’ matters to me. I like nice. And being nice has nothing to do with being slotted into the friend zone. And being friends doesn’t mean being slotted into the friend zone. And for the record, what others might consider a slowpoke, I consider very much right on time.”