I chuckled, tapping out the address to my apartment as I entered the elevator, pressing the button for the penthouse level. I had to juggle the dip I’d made, holding it against the wall with my hip so I could slip my phone back into my bag. It was Janie’s turn to host, but with her feeling so wretched these days, the rest of us decided to make and bring the food.
When the elevator doors opened, I moved to leave but took a startled step back, almost colliding with Quinn’s business partner, Dan O’Malley.
Dan and I had been through a lot together, especially this last year. He, Quinn, and I had bonded while on a trip in the spring to Nigeria to help Greg and Fiona out of a bind. Working toward a common goal in close quarters. I was thankful to have these great guys in my life, proving that great guys existed.
“Gah.” I wobbled, trying to regain my balance.
He reached out to steady me, his beefy hands gripping my shoulders. “You okay there?”
“Yes.” I laughed at my clumsiness and sighed. “Long day. Sorry.”
“No problem.” Once he was sure I was stable, he released me and stepped back, motioning for me to exit the elevator. “You’re the last to arrive.”
“I figured as much.” Frowning, I glanced at the door leading to Janie and Quinn’s place. “How’s she doing? Any better?”
He shook his head wearily, rubbing the back of his neck where swirling tattoos peaked out from the collar of his shirt. His mouth formed a tired line. “I can’t wait until that baby is out. Quinn’s been a real sonofabitch—excuse my language—for the last five months.”
“Sorry.” I gave him a sympathetic smile. The typically even-tempered Bostonian seemed exceptionally irritable this evening.
“It’s fine.” He waved me off as he stepped onto the elevator and punched a button. “All I’m saying is, they better name it after me.”
Giving him one last departing wave, I turned and strolled down the hall, knocking on Janie’s door with my free hand. A few seconds later, Kat opened the door, her gaze wide and expectant. But as soon as she saw me, her expression faltered.
“Oh. Hi, Marie.” She sounded a shade disappointed.
I tried not to take it personally. “Who were you expecting?”
She brightened her smile, waving me forward. “You, of course. Come in.” Taking the dip from my hands, she walked toward the kitchen, calling ahead of her, “Marie brought dip.”
“Yay for dip,” came Sandra’s excited reply.
Leaving my purse by the door, I grabbed my knitting bag and headed for the family room, happy to see all my friends’ smiling faces as soon as I entered. Even Janie was smiling.
“Marie. Goddess of the dip,” Ashley’s voice called from a laptop sitting on a side table. “You’ll need to send me the recipe.”
“I will,” I promised.
“Hey, Marie.” Nico—aka Nicoletta—smiled his greeting. He couldn’t stand up as his wife was sitting on his lap, as was their way.
“Hey. I didn’t think you were going to be here.”
Kat emerged from the kitchen holding two cocktail glasses and handed me one. “For you, my dear.”
“Thank you.”
“Okay, now that everyone is here, I have a question.” Sandra held her hands up in front of her and asked the room, “Do y’all think the word ‘Nazi’ is offensive?”
Kat took a seat on the sofa, casting Sandra a cautious glance. “What do you mean? In what context?”
“Like saying someone is a grammar-Nazi?”
“I can’t speak for all Jewish people, because—you know—we’re all individuals with our own opinions, experiences, outlooks, and whatnot, but, it doesn’t bother me that much.” Kat paused, twisting her mouth to the side for a beat. “However, I know for a fact it does bother my father. A lot. And his friends.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t bother you that much?” I asked.
“I mean, you know, it bothers me a little. Using Nazi as a colloquialism or synonym for fastidious doesn’t seem . . . right. Shouldn’t the opposite be true? Shouldn’t it mean murderer? Instead of fastidious about grammar, it should mean one who slanders, murders, and annihilates grammar.” Kat frowned, appearing as though she was wading through a weighty problem. “Now that I think about it, I guess it does bother me.”
“I’m sorry.” Sandra’s forehead wrinkled.
“Why are you sorry?” Kat tilted her head to the side in question.
“Because I’ve said it before. I know I have. And I didn’t mean to be insensitive, but now I know I was insensitive. So, I’m sorry,” Sandra said sincerely.
“Thanks for apologizing. I guess.” Kat frowned, still looking confused. “I mean, part of me doesn’t think you need to, because I know you’re not being unkind. But then another part of me appreciates it. And then a third part of me just wants to eat cheese.”
“I get that.” Sandra nodded thoughtfully. “Especially the cheese part.”
“The irony of the grammar-Nazi colloquialism and how many people are now offended by its use is that the usage in that context originates from the TV show Seinfeld. Do you remember the soup-Nazi episode?” Janie didn’t look up from her work in progress as she asked this.
“Can we stop saying the word Nazi, please?” Fiona made a face of distaste.
“You just said it,” Elizabeth pointed out.
Fiona sent Elizabeth a gently scathing look—if such a thing existed—effectively silencing the younger woman. Or maybe it was her badass ex-CIA look. Or maybe it was both.
“I remember that episode, yes.” Kat nodded, sipping her cocktail.
“Well, about a year before it aired, the term grammar . . .” Janie’s eyes drifted to Fiona’s, then back to Kat’s before continuing, “grammar-you-know-what was coined online, in early 1995. But then ten months later, the soup-you-know-who episode aired. Some people speculate grammar-you-know-what and similar phrases only gained popularity because of the soup-you-know-who episode. And Seinfeld was written by Larry David, who is Jewish, and stars Jerry Seinfeld, who is also Jewish.”
“Just because it was started by Jewish comedians doesn’t mean other Jewish people can’t be troubled by it. Or non-Jewish people. Or all people,” Nico added. “As entertainers, you’re responsible for either raising or lowering the bar.”
“Very true.” Elizabeth nodded. “And what does your semi-naked Jell-O wrestling on national TV do again? Raise the bar or lower it?”
“Definitely raise it,” Sandra said before Nico could respond, then proceeded to trade saucy grins and winks with him.