Chapter 1

For the past three years we’ve been meeting every two weeks for our own version of book club. A book is always chosen and dutifully discussed for three minutes then hastily abandoned for the more interesting topics of sex, love, and laughter.

We’ve been together so long we can hardly remember when we met or who knew who first, though occasionally we linger over dessert wine re-telling tales of friendship spills and thrills.

There are six of us, six very different, but equally determined to be heard, women. Our round table discussions can get a little saucy and more than a little loud. Whether or not we break the sound barrier all depends on how many wine bottles litter the table.

We’re all lawyers except for Mary Beth who was once married to a lawyer, but thought better of it and now is single, without children, and gainfully employed as a public relations pro to local personalities. She tends to have the best work stories because celbrities, even local ones, are crazy.

Alex is married with three kids and may be the best lawyer I’ve ever known. She’s tenacious and not just at her job, but in life. She figures out what she wants and she sets out to get it with unshakeable determination. I’ve never seen her fail at anything, yet I don’t hate her for it, probably because she’s as determined in her friendships as in executing a contract or finding the best deal on strawberries.

Erin is our resident redhead and all American tomboy. As an immigration attorney she likes to say she’s doing God’s Work because God only knows what she has to deal with as a citizenship broker. Erin’s married, but kept her own name which makes it more difficult to address their invitations, but she swears by separate last names, separate bank accounts, and separate bathrooms. She’s taken a pass on children, at least for now.

Evie was once a lawyer, but gave it up for her husband and their three kids. She was born a free-spirited hippie chick, but grew up and became a member of the country club. Still, you can take the tie-dyed shirt off the hippie’s back, but you can’t take the tie-dyed out of the hippie. Or something like that. No matter the setting, Evie won’t hesitate to speak her mind or drop an F-bomb.

Zoe is a banking lawyer. Meaning, she’s a lawyer who works for a bank. I don’t really know much more about it because numbers frighten me. Zoe is our other free-spirit, complete with back tat and toe ring which makes her an interesting fit with the banking crowd. She too is a married gal with a couple of kids, but she is in a perpetual state of reinvention.

And then there’s me, Mackenzie, or Mac if you will. If forced to describe myself I must confess that I’m the least exciting of my group. A chubby, thirty-something lawyer, with a husband, but no kids. I wish I could tell you that I fight crime or win millions for the chronically wronged, but I can’t. I represent companies, big old companies, that used to make asbestos-containing products. That’s it. Not much more to say about me.

Tonight’s book club is at The Porch, a lovely little joint featuring upscale home-cooking and lots of pretty cocktails. I was running late, as usual, because I got stuck talking to the biggest soul-suck in our office, Roger, just as I was shutting down my computer. Roger was one of those bosses that always waited to discuss an impossibly large project till you were getting ready to head home. And he can’t seem to take the hint when you zip up your briefcase, plop your purse on your desk, and pull out your car keys with a look of shut-the-hell up on your face. Once, he almost followed me into the women’s bathroom when I pleaded a failing bladder in an effort to get away.

My cell rang just as I pulled into the valet line in front of the restaurant. Caller id told me an impatient Alex was on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Mac, where are you?” Alex asked.

“I’m here. Just parking. Order me something red.”

“Alright. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about book club. Again.”

“WTF! I’ve only forgotten once and I was having a really bad day.”

“A heavy period is no excuse for missing book club.”

“Was that my excuse?” I seriously couldn’t recall what reason I’d given the one time I failed to show up.

“Yep. Now get in here. Our waiter is smoking hot.” Alex hung up and I slipped my phone into my purse just as a smoking hot valet guy opened my car door for me.

I struggled to get out of my seat without flashing any fat at Mr. Valet, not that he was looking at me anyway. Being a pudge makes me invisible to the opposite sex. And what better way for me to spend my evening as an invisible woman than with beautiful women who are anything but invisible? The only thing not to love about book club is feeling like the lone toadstool in a field of lovely flowers. Thin, lovely flowers.

As I walked into The Porch that night I had no way of knowing that one of us would make an interesting confession, one of us would leave crying, and one of us would keep a secret. Of course, just because we’re in our thirties with some marriages and some kids doesn’t mean we’re not daring, salacious, and still full of surprises. Just because we’re nearing the mid-point, or as I like to call it Life’s Equator, doesn’t mean we’re already dead. Just the opposite.