The scrum of just-arrived four-and five-year-olds beelined for the mini horse, as Steven desperately tried to inflate a bouncy castle in the only remaining space left in the backyard.
Stepping into CJ and Steven’s townhouse was like wandering onto a Bollywood set. When they moved in, CJ had the downstairs walls painted dark red and adorned them with framed vintage saris dating back to before the British Raj. They’d knocked down most of the interior walls, and the large living room spilled into the kitchen, which in turn opened into the backyard garden. Delicious incense burned in each corner.
CJ’s mom and aunt, both in bright blue embroidered salwar kameez with gold bangles lining their arms, bustled around the kitchen, commenting on how dreadfully skinny CJ’s American friends were.
Ivy pulled glasses down from a shelf. “Seriously, who exactly is getting rich off this mason jar bubble? Do you think we could invest?” She held up one of the old-timey jars before turning her attention back to Janey. “St. Lucia?”
“Apparently the place is owned by some crazy socialite interior designer and her venture capitalist husband. Some famous director helped them finance it. Maybe Martin Scorsese?” It was Martin Scorsese. She’d overheard Sara talking about it one day after the class. She called him Marty.
“Sounds amazing. When are we going?” Janey hadn’t seen Ivy this eager in a long time.
“Oh, shoot. I don’t think I can bring anyone.”
Ivy laughed. “I meant to the class, not St. Lucia.” A quick sense of relief washed over her. She took a sip of her Green juice and vodka and wished it had a splash of tonic.
“Tuesday morning? Six a.m.?”
“Okay. Text me the addy and I’ll meet you there. Anything I need to know before we go?”
“Well, it’s strange. You’re only supposed to wear all grey. I thought it was totally weird the first time I went, but now I can see that the monochrome actually has a calming effect on your brain.”
“A calming effect on your brain?” Ivy laughed. “Who the fuck are you?” One of the mommies gave her a horrified look and clasped her hands over her kindergartener’s ears.
“Ugh. Sorry,” Ivy said uneasily before adding in a lower register: “Like you don’t curse at home or watch Game of Thrones? Don’t look at me like that.” She turned back to Janey. “Anyway. A calming effect? You’re turning into one of them.”
“One of who?” Janey asked.
“One of those people who talks about journeys and mantras and life force. You’ve drunk the Kool-Aid.”
I drank the bird poop, Janey thought to herself and struggled to find the right response for Ivy.
“You work at SoarBarre.”
“Yeah? So what? I don’t believe in SoarBarre. I let them pay me. I still believe what I’ve always believed about weight loss. You want to lose weight and feel healthy and strong? Eat less, move more. No one needs me screaming at her.”
“Then you should open your own exercise studio,” Janey said, with all seriousness.
Ivy didn’t want to admit out loud she’d considered doing just that, hundreds of times, but she was scared she’d fail and then end up as a giant nobody and have to go back home and live in Charleston where her parents would insist she marry a nice boy and make babies like the ones who were currently torturing a small animal not five yards away. “Anyway. Whatever. I was kidding. Well, not kidding, but whatever. Tell me about your date with the juice guy.”
“Jacob.”
“Cute name. Tell me.”
“It was great. What kind of details do you want?”
“All of them.”
“Me too. I need to hear everything too.” Janey turned to see CJ spooning a gooey yellow liquid into her mouth from another mason jar.
“Are you eating butter, CJ?” Janey asked her friend.
“Nope, it’s ghee. Clarified butter,” CJ corrected her.
“You’re on a butter diet?”
“Clarified butter.” CJ scooped another dollop into her mouth as she turned to eye the children. “Clarified butter is a thinning fat. It contains a conjugated linoleic acid, which apparently helps you lose really stubborn fat. It mobilizes the other fat cells like a drill sergeant made of fat for your fat cells. It’s liquid gold. But you have to make sure to buy the desi cow ghee, which comes from the milk of the hunchbacked Indian cows that have lived a completely stress-free life. It doesn’t work as well if it comes from agitated cows. It’s next to the olive oil at Whole Foods.” CJ grabbed a tin from the counter with a picture of a happy batty-eyed bovine under the name HOLY COW GHEE! “Come on, Janey, spill about the juice guy,” CJ whined. “I saw him when I stopped into Wandering Juice this morning.” She began describing Jacob for Ivy’s benefit. “You can actually see his pecs through his T-shirt. I haven’t seen any pecs in fifteen years. Steven has tits now. Breasts. My husband has bigger breasts than I do. I need to hear about hot sex with the juice guy.” CJ wasn’t even bothering to whisper as Steven finally opened the flap to allow children into the bouncy castle.
“Me three,” a very pregnant woman Janey didn’t recognize chimed in from across the room. “I haven’t had sex in two years.”
“You’re pregnant,” CJ said incredulously.
The woman waved her hand. “I don’t even remember it. Come on. Hot juice guy. How hot are we talking? Also, CJ, are these mason jars BPA-free?”
“Hot,” CJ said. “And yes, Ella, of course they’re BPA-free. Do you think I’d have anything in my house that wasn’t BPA-free?”
“Channing Tatum or Chris Pine?”
“Channing Tatum.”
“I can work with that. Do you think he’d want to do a photo shoot?” That was an odd response, but no more odd than learning that a pregnant woman outside of the New Testament hadn’t had sex in two years.
“Ella runs Vogue.com,” CJ explained about the massively expectant brunette, who nodded.
“Hot men get clicks, especially hot men who look like they work with their hands and do things that might involve dirt and wear plaid. Let me know if he’d be interested. Our audience loves a hot modern farmer. Tell us all about the sex!”
The woman’s face was so eager Janey worried she’d go into labor if she didn’t tell her everything. But it was the mini horse that saved her. He let out a braying shriek of terror as both of CJ’s twins tried to climb on top of him at the same time.
“Fuck. I told them not to ride the mini horse. I should’ve gotten the hypnotist.” CJ leapt up to calm the beast.
“Let me help,” Ivy said, grabbing a bottle of champagne and chasing after her. “I’ve got this.”
The horse reared into the air like a very small bronco ready to charge the prairie. The paunchier of the twins fell to the ground in tears. Janey tore her eyes away from the incident to pour more vodka into her mason jar and saw a familiar face.