Rebecca laughed. “Thanks for the encouraging words.”
“No, I mean I don’t remember it. It seems like another lifetime ago, as though it happened to someone else.”
“There’s a silver lining,” Kate said. “One day your pantyliners will be a distant memory.”
Libbie cringed. “Have we not come up with a new word yet?”
Kate smiled as she took another sip of her drink. “Not everyone has an aversion to the word ‘panties’ the way you do.”
Libbie closed her eyes as she drained her flute. She didn’t know why she hated the word so much, only that she did. It was right up there with ‘moist’ and ‘crevice.’
“What about crotch barrier?” Inga suggested. “Is that better?”
“She doesn’t like the word ‘crotch’ either,” Kate said.
Julie’s nails clicked on the outside of her glass. “You could just call it a liner.”
“But then you could be talking about your kitchen drawers instead of your actual drawers. Mentioning floral scented won’t help, either.” Kate handed Libbie a mojitarita. One of the reasons Libbie enjoyed Friday nights so much, other than the good company, was that no one expected her to make the drinks. In fact, Libbie rarely stepped behind the bar. Someone else was always willing to mix the cocktails. If not Inga, then a hunky bartender that Inga had hired for the evening. Libbie recognized most of the young men from the local bars and restaurants. She suspected that Inga paid well. Besides, Libbie imagined that serving cocktails to five adult women had to be preferable to the boisterous holiday crowd at the lakefront bars.
Libbie inspected the cocktail. “I like the color.”
“Go easy,” Kate said. “We don’t need a repeat of your twenty-first birthday.”
Kate had been present for the infamous tequila incident. Her best friend had driven all the way from Philadelphia to Penn State to celebrate with Libbie. It was a good thing, too, because Libbie had to be carried out of the bar that night by two male friends, after vomiting all over the dance floor. Not Libbie’s proudest moment.
Libbie took a hesitant sip of the cocktail. “Lime and mint.”
Inga winked. “Can’t get anything past you.”
A cat threaded her way between Libbie’s legs. “There you are, Eliza,” Libbie said. “I was wondering if I’d see any of you tonight.”
Inga had four cats named after the Schuyler sisters—Catherine, affectionately known as “Cat-Cat,” Eliza, Angelica, and Peggy. Inga had once spent an entire cocktail club sharing fascinating stories about the Schuyler sisters. Until then, Libbie had only been familiar with Founding Father Alexander Hamilton, not his wife and her sisters.
“The other three were out here earlier,” Kate said with a visible shudder. She wasn’t exactly an animal person. She didn’t like anything that involved extra mess. Libbie had been surprised when Kate ended up giving birth, not just once but three times. In typical Kate fashion, she’d made it look easy and had even bypassed the epidural for the third one.
“They’ve been climbing all over the fallen tree in the backyard,” Rebecca said. “It’s too dark to see now, but one of the trees got split in half by lightning the other night.”
“It fell clear of the house, thank goodness,” Julie added.
Libbie regarded Inga. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt, but it’s a shame about the tree.”
The older woman appeared pained. “The circle of life, my dear. Trees are as vulnerable as we are.”
“That tree did better than most,” Rebecca said. “It was huge. I bet it was close to a hundred years old.”
Libbie knew the exact tree she meant, a majestic oak tree with a thick base and a dozen twisted branches that seemed to reach for the other trees around it.
“Oh, and Kate also shared some exciting news,” Julie said.
Kate practically blinded her with a smile. “I hit a million subscribers on my YouTube channel.”
Libbie inhaled sharply. “That’s incredible. Go you!”
“The secret’s out,” Julie said. “Now everyone knows what we already knew, that you’re an inspiration.”
“Not everyone,” Kate pointed out, completely serious. “A million other people. That’s only a fraction of the number needed for world domination.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Rebecca said. “Three kids, a husband, your own successful business, and you still manage to have a killer body.”
Kate brought her glass to her pale pink lips. “When you love something, it never feels like work.”
Inga snorted. “I’ve been married three times. Trust me, at some point, it always felt like work.”
Julie seemed to tower over the older woman as she touched Inga’s shoulder. “You’ve somehow squeezed twenty lives into one. I hope I manage to live even half as much as you have.”
Inga’s wrinkled lips curled into a smile. “Don’t worry, my dear. You will.”
A second cat ran up the steps to the deck, its dark coat nearly invisible against the backdrop of the night. Libbie could see the cat had something in her mouth, but only recognized it as a rotten apple when she dropped it at Inga’s feet.
“Lucky you, a present,” Rebecca said, wrinkling her nose.
“Be grateful it’s not a mouse or the head of a bird,” Julie said.
Inga took a step back from the apple. “I’d rather it was one of those.”
Libbie took a napkin and scooped up the offending item, tossing it into the wastebasket. “Gone now.”
Inga continued to stare at the spot on the deck where the apple had been. “But not forgotten,” she said quietly.
Julie raised her glass. “This cocktail is pure inspiration. I’m glad you didn’t make us one of those special drinks tonight. As much as I love random plants in my cocktail,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “this one hit the spot.”
“I thought as much.” Inga set her empty glass on the bar and waved them closer. “Circle time. Gather around, friends.”
Inwardly Libbie groaned. She hated the compliment circle. She was uncomfortable with any form of attention, good or bad.
“I see that face, Elizabeth Stark.” Inga wagged a finger at her. “It’s important for women to lift each other up.”
“I know, I know. It’s not that I’m against complimenting everyone else.” Libbie dragged herself over to the other women.
“I don’t love it, either,” Rebecca said.
“It’s Kate’s favorite time of the evening,” Julie said, smiling.
“No, the cocktails are my favorite time of the evening.” Kate paused. “But compliments are a close second.”
“I feel like I’m back in preschool whenever we do this,” Rebecca grumbled.
“That’s a good thing,” Inga said. “I highly recommend getting in touch with your younger self if you aren’t already. Children have much to teach us, especially our own inner child.”
Rebecca snorted. “Don’t go Mr. Miyagi on us.”
“That’s not Miyagi, that’s Yoda,” Julie countered.