noodle cookies? Can you imagine making something as unhealthy as that in this day and age? What could she have been thinking? Those things are full of saturated fat and all sorts of preservatives. Talk about empty calories!â
Lucy looked across the table toward the sideboard, where Franny was refilling the teapot, and saw her hurt expression.
âOh, I donât know,â said Lucy, catching Frannyâs eye. âI canât resist them myselfâand itâs only once a year.â
Thatâs right, she told herself. Christmas only comes once a year, thank goodness. And with any luck, sheâd never have to have this blasted cookie exchange again. How could she have forgotten? It was the same thing every year. Somebody always went home with hurt feelings. Of course, this year looked to be something of a record in the hurt-feelings department. It was all Sueâs fault, she decided. If sheâd gotten to the party on time, she could have helped keep the combatants apart. As it was, if she didnât arrive soon, thought Lucy, blood would probably be shed.
In the kitchen, Lucy tossed the pamphlets into the bin under the kitchen sink. The last thing she wanted was for Andrea to see them; remembering her swollen eyes when she arrived, Lucy was sure she was enormously upset about Timâs arrest. All that bragging about the MCU scholarship was her way of putting on a brave front.
Of course, nobody was more competitive than Andrea when it came to kids. As much as Lucy sympathized with her, and dreaded finding herself in the same situation, she couldnât help feeling just the teeniest bit that Andrea was getting her just desserts.
Lucy was far too superstitious ever to brag about her children; the most she would do was modestly accept a compliment on their behalf. That wasnât Andreaâs way. Ever since Tim caught his first Wiffle ball, gently lobbed by his father, she had hailed him as a superb athlete. Her friends had listened patiently through the years as she had provided a play-by-play narration of his achievements. In his motherâs eyes, Tim could do no wrong. He was perfect. He was, thought Lucy, too good to be true.
Returning to the dining room, Lucy poured herself a cup of coffee and propped a slice of cake on the saucer. Then she followed the group into the living room, where they had settled to enjoy their refreshments. Lee was making the most of this opportunity to reap her friendsâ sympathy by making sure they all knew the details of Steveâs latest transgressions.
âHe told his lawyer that thereâs no reason for me to get the stove because I never lifted a hand to cook a home-cooked meal in the entire seven years weâve been marriedâcan you believe it?â
Receiving clucks and murmurs of sympathy from the group, she continued. âI mean, we entertained at least once a week and I thought nothing of whipping up beef Stroganoff or coq au vin for his dental-society colleagues and their incredibly boring wives, not to mention chicken wings and homemade pizzaâwith sundried tomatoes, I might addâfor his annual Super Bowl bash. This stuff didnât all just appear, you know. I spent hours cutting and chopping and stirring and sweating over a hot stoveâthe very stove he says I never touched. Can you believe it?â
âItâs funny. If people donât do something themselves, they donât understand how much work it is,â said Pam. âTed doesnât have a clue about housework. Iâm sure he thinks the rugs vacuum themselves while I lie on the couch all day watching soap operas.â
The women chuckled and nodded in agreement.
âDonât even mention rugs,â moaned Lee. âYou know my beautiful Kirman, the one my parents gave us for a wedding present?â
âHe wants that?â asked Lydia.
Lee nodded, and the women sighed and shook their heads in dismay.
âThatâs