Never Have I Ever(4)

Roux turned to Sheila Bowen on her right. “Lila? No, Sheila. Yeah? What kind of animal are you?”

“A tiger,” Sheila said promptly, and I felt us tip.

“I see that! You’ve got those yellow eyes, like some kind of huntress,” Roux said, and an affirming murmur ran around the circle. Sheila did have tiger eyes, but none of us had noticed that before. Roux said, “Keep going, keep going, I can hear,” as she got up and left the circle, heading for the wet bar.

She loaded every leftover wine bottle into her arms, though we usually all stopped pouring when we took our seats, finishing our last half drinks during the discussion. She plopped them clanking down onto the coffee table as Lavonda Gaffney introduced herself and claimed to be a lion fish.

I felt the elbow again. Harder. I gave Char a commiserating glance. Charlotte had had a rough first trimester, and all the vomiting had made her more impatient than she usually was.

Next to Lavonda, Tess was talking in her big, goose-honk voice, claiming to be a sparrow, while Roux twisted off all the screw caps.

Then Lisa Fenton introduced herself and said, “I’m in the red brick, between your house and Charlotte’s. Come over if you need sugar or an egg, whatever. As for my animal, that’s hard. I need to think.”

Roux was now making her way around the circle with two open bottles, nodding to Tess, saying, “Red or white?” soft, like a waitress.

Charlotte whispered to me, “This is a total hijack!”

I gave her an apologetic shrug.

“I think you’re a hawk. So there,” Sheridan Blake said.

Roux nodded, pouring cups and glasses to the rims, instantly affirming. “I can totally see that.”

Lisa blushed, so pleased, and said, “With three kids under five, I guess I have to be. I do see everything.”

I put a calming hand on Charlotte’s arm while Chloe Fischer declared that her spirit animal was “mama bear.” But then she paused and added, “Or maybe I’m an egret?” She looked to Roux for confirmation.

“What’s an egret?” Panda asked, which spawned a lot of explanations about seabirds, and everyone kept drinking, drinking, drinking.

Roux decided in the end. “Definitely a mama bear. It’s just you’re built so delicately, it’s hard to see that bear inside you. But it’s there.”

Char leaned in and whispered, “Bear my butt. Chloe Fischer’s just a monkey. We’re all monkeys. That woman has us wearing cunning little hats and dancing on cue. How did she do that?”

I wasn’t sure. Nothing had ever derailed Charlotte’s rigorously scheduled book club. Nothing derailed Char’s rigorously scheduled anything, and as much I loved her, I couldn’t help but think this might be good for her. I couldn’t help but find it interesting.

Shy Allie Whitaker was playing now, peeping up from under her bangs and claiming that she might be a tiger, too. Inside. Very, very deep.

“Yeah, you have some jungle teeth hidden in you. I can see them,” Roux said, and Allie shrugged, almost wriggling in her pleasure.

Char kept checking the clock, watching the minutes leak away, as the women picked animals and emptied the glasses that Roux kept sloshing full. I knew Char’d been looking forward to talking about beautiful Lily Bart, drifting to her doom by inches; the whole discussion hour was nearly gone, and we hadn’t even started the questions.

Roux kept pouring, egging them on, until they were talking over one another, all claiming to be piranhas or panthers or peacocks. The only true peacock in our bunch was Tate Bonasco, who had bee-stung lips and (Char believed) a boob job. And even she would be a zoo peacock.

Truthfully, we were domesticated animals, all of us, except for Roux. She hadn’t said her animal, but I thought it must be wild, or maybe feral.

The wine was nearly gone, and Roux was back at the bar, making up a mixed drink like she lived here, though the last thing any woman in this room needed was more alcohol. The conversation was so loud and rowdy now, women slurring and cackling, that I was glad all the bedrooms were up on the second floor. Oliver slept light, and Davis got so uncomfortable when folks were sloppy drunk.

Roux came back to the circle just as it was my turn. She handed me the mixed drink, and I was surprised at how observant she was. I hated wine. Could not bear even the flat, sour smell of it. I drank gin and tonic, but my first had been a very light pour. After that my drinks had been gin in name only, like always. “One-Drink Whey,” Davis called me.

I took a sip, and it was piney and brisk. Cold in my mouth, but so strong that I felt it as a heat by the time it reached my chest. No way I would drink much of this, though it was delicious. She’d rubbed the rim of the glass with fresh lime, a tart finish on my tongue.

Still, loyal to Char, I only said, “I’m feeling like a porcupine. A porcupine who really wants to talk about The House of Mirth. Maybe we could—”

“We’re almost done,” Roux said, wiping my words away with a lazy wave of her hand. I was surprised at how much I minded the dismissal. She’d made a fuss over all the selections, so opinionated, finding an animal that made every woman there feel good. Until me. I wasn’t anything like a porcupine, but she accepted it as my animal, when I’d meant it as a dig. She’d already turned her gaze on Charlotte. “Of course I know your name, but your animal is tricky.”