From my other side, Winnie eyes me, like her keen gaze has the power to see my thoughts. We not-so-jokingly call her the scalpel, both because of her keen insight and her aversion to anything but honesty. With Val’s soft questioning and Winnie’s sharp eyes, it’s hard to keep this secret. Especially when sandwiched between my two best friends.
I’m the perpetual middle of us, the medium setting in almost every way. My boring brown hair lands between Val’s black and Winnie’s golden; my olive skin is in the middle of Winnie’s pale cream and the rich sepia Val shares with Mari. Val runs full-tilt in terms of her words and her emotions, while Winnie is like a tight fist of control, wrapped up in snark. I am—you guessed it!—right in the middle.
I also fit somewhere between the two of them style-wise with what I call Texas casual chic. My usual uniform is cowboy boots paired with simple dresses or jeans. The forest-green Dickey’s coveralls Val has on tonight are one of her fashion staples, with multiple layers of paint across the knees and splatters on the chest. On most women, this utilitarian-artist look might not work, but not even coveralls can hide Val’s curves.
Meanwhile, Winnie dresses like she climbed right out of a 1950s pin-up calendar. The more covered-up variety of pin-up, to be clear. She is the epitome of sexy without showing a lot of skin. Tonight, she has on cropped, black pants and a soft cream button-down shirt, tied at the waist. She has the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, showing just a hint of her tattoos, which are real works of art covering her upper arms and shoulders. Val designed most of them. The high ponytail with a silky pink ribbon and her black-framed glasses complete Winnie’s look, which she’s been consistently rocking since eighth grade.
At a glance, we might look like the unlikeliest of friends, but we’ve been inseparable since we were in middle school, barring the college years where we went our separate ways. Our friendship survived somehow via text and three-way video calls. None of us planned to end up back in Sheet Cake being with Val and Winnie makes being home bearable.
Except when I’m keeping a monumental bit of information from them.
Ashlee arrives just moments before the meeting starts, rushing inside with a wooden tray and tea set. I wonder if she spikes her tea with whiskey too. My lawyer has traded her conservative navy suit for cutoffs and a silky white T-shirt. If every eye in the library isn’t watching her long legs as she strides across the room, I’ll donate one of my kidneys to a stranger tomorrow.
She gives me a small smile as she settles in next to Kitty Bishop, whose daughter Deedee is babysitting Jo tonight. Kitty has three teenage girls, so it’s hard to remember that she and Ashlee are around the same age, mid-thirties. They’re like a tale of two cities, small-town style—one of them stayed and started having babies immediately while the other got the heck out to start a career.
“I wanna be Ashlee when I grow up,” Val whispers.
“We should be so lucky,” I respond.
“She’s gonna mop up the floor with Rachel,” Winnie says, and I know she means it to be reassuring. But I’d rather not think about the hearing. And as complicated as my feelings toward Rachel are, I don’t like thinking about this as a competition. That comes too dangerously close to thinking Jo as the prize, not a person—and that’s exactly the way Rachel operates.
I am saved from having to respond when Lynn Louise bangs her gavel. The town librarian perches on the circulation desk like a queen, despite her bare feet, the worn sundress she wears like a uniform, and the white pouf of hair atop her head. She frequently pulls pens from her coif, and I swear, once I saw her retrieve a key from its depths. It’s the hairdo equivalent of Mary Poppins’ bag.
“Let us call to order this meeting of the Ladies Literary and Libations Society,” Lynn Louise calls, with another bang of the gavel for effect.
“Order is served,” we echo back before lifting our various libations in the air.
Everything from moonshine to herbal tea is represented in our group. Val and Winnie clink shot glasses and toss back what smells like tequila.
Big Mo, the only man allowed into the Ladies Literary and Libations Society, sips a root beer. Judge Judie—yep, like the famous one except with an -ie—pulls a silver flask from her overalls, probably filled with her family’s famous moonshine. Ashlee sips herbal tea from a china cup, Kitty drinks wine from a mason jar, and the half-dozen or so other members all have their own unique drinks of choice.
Here at the LLLS, we are serious about our libations, less so about our literary, and just plain willy-nilly with punctuation. I’ve been arguing in every meeting for the two years I’ve been a member that either Ladies needs an apostrophe, or we need commas after both Ladies and Literary. No one seems to care about this punctuation issue.
But they do care about this dying town, which is why we meet in the closed library once a month for what falls somewhere between a town hall meeting and a formal gossip session with about twenty of the town’s key women, plus Big Mo. The LLLS may not have the public sway of city council, but this room full of powerful women holds this town together.
And we do it all without the presence of a single Waters. The women in that family are as awful as the men—snobby, entitled, and, I suspect, soulless. Billy’s cousin, Spring, was in my grade and made it her personal mission to shun me, Val, and Winnie. I can almost forgive her, considering her parents named her Spring Waters, but a ridiculous name is no excuse for bad behavior.
I sip my Americano, a rare indulgence I allowed myself on the way here. I need the caffeine because I’ve got work to do when I get home. Insightful online journalism waits for no man, and my article on books with the best kissing scenes needs to be done by morning. To be completely honest, I may have over-researched.