BOOK 1 OF THE SKYLARK SERIES #2
I laugh at the joke before my gaze snags on Sloane. She’s swiping a hand across her cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears she can’t seem to stop.
“Hey there, girl. What is it?” I climb out of my chair and circle the table to sit in the empty one next to her, grabbing her hand.
“Did I make you cry?” Avah sounds horrified. “I’m sorry. I think getting out of your comfort zone is a good idea. We could all use it. I could use it, and I just don’t do it. Yes, I found her tone sanctimonious and—”
“Not helping,” Molly says, elbowing Avah.
Iris, who’s sitting on Sloane’s other side, plucks a napkin from the center of the table and hands it to the bookstore owner.
“What’s going on? You don’t usually mind divisive book discussions.”
“It’s not about the book. I didn’t want to tell you guys this now. I don’t want to make book club about me and my—”
“Oh, my God, you’re pregnant!” Molly interrupts.
Sloane laughs as she dabs the napkin at the corners of her eyes. “Hardly. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex that I might be a born-again virgin.”
“That’s not a thing,” I say quietly. I should know.
Taylor leans forward. “Please tell us you’re okay.”
Sloane wrinkles her nose. “I’ll be okay, but I’ve been getting super tired recently and feeling kind of dizzy. I went to the eye doctor thinking I needed glasses, but it’s not that.”
Before this moment, I never truly appreciated the phrase “so quiet you could hear a pin drop.” No one breathes as we wait for Sloane to say more.
“They ran some tests and…well…I have a little cancer.”
“I don’t think little is an adjective you use to describe cancer,” Avah says.
“What kind?” Iris demands.
“Acute lymphocytic leukemia.” Sloane’s voice is small. “ALL, for short.”
I open my mouth to say something—anything—to make this moment better or ease the fear in my friend’s voice, but I have no words. Luckily, Iris always has words.
“Leukemia is treatable,” she says with the confidence of a top-notch oncologist. “I knew a boy who had leukemia in third grade. He’s fine now.”
“Yeah, my brother had leukemia as a kid,” Sloane tells us. “Rates of recovery are better in younger patients, but I’ll be fine. I think.”
Molly nods. “Of course, you’ll be fine.”
“What can we do?” Iris asks, always quick to take charge.
“We can drive you to doctor appointments,” Molly offers. “Stock your freezer with meals.”
Sloane shakes her head. “They’re working on a treatment plan. Hopefully just chemo.” She laughs without humor. “I can’t believe I’m wishing for chemotherapy. Until the doctors finalize next steps, I want to act like everything is normal.”
“But it’s not,” Iris answers, always pragmatic.
“We can pretend for now,” Taylor counters, her tone adamant.
The rest of us go quiet without missing a beat because Taylor never takes a firm tone. It means something.
Sloane offers another smile. “Just saying the words out loud makes them less scary,” she tells us, flipping open the book.
“I understand what Avah was saying about Kristen’s year coming off as inauthentic in some chapters.
So I’d like to take this next year, or however long it takes—because we’re going to be together in this book club forever—to each check an item off our bucket list.”
What if I don’t have a bucket list?
“Something from your heart,” she continues, looking at me like she can read my mind. Damn that no poker face. “It should be scary, but also have the power to change your life.”
“Skydiving has the power to change your life.” Iris gives a mock shudder. “Especially if the parachute doesn’t open.”
Sloane takes a sip of wine. “You know what I mean. I want to do a bucket list club. I need something to take my mind off of…” Her hand is trembling so much, a bit of pink liquid sloshes over the side of the cup, and she places it back on the table. “Off of me.”
“We’ll do it,” Molly answers, glancing from me to Taylor to Iris to Avah.
They each look about as excited as I feel—which is definitely not excited—but I join them in nodding.
“Do we all pick something now or come up with ideas later?” I ask.
Molly shakes her head. “We should go one at a time, so the rest of us can support whoever is working on their bucket list activity.”
“They need to be big and meaningful,” Iris adds.
“But nothing that takes too long,” Avah blurts, then clasps a hand over her mouth. “I hate that I even said those words. I mean, we don’t want to lose momentum.”
Sloane nods. “I agree.”
There’s another beat of silence, but not the pin-drop kind. It’s heavy and tense, like each of us is well aware of the fears we want to face, but no one is quite ready to volunteer.
Sloane tucks a strand of mahogany-colored hair behind her ear.
She has effortlessly beautiful hair—long and shiny, with waves that some women spend ridiculous amounts of money on products to achieve.
I barely know how to use a blow dryer. My hair is dishwater blonde and streaky from hours in the sun walking dogs.
Will she lose her hair? Will the chemo get rid of the cancer? This equation has so many unknowns, and she’s asked something so small from us.
In solidarity, my hand shoots up like I’m back in the classroom. “I’ll do it. I’ll go first.”
“Thank you,” Sloane says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
“Way to get in there, Sadie Hart.” Avah points at me. “Do you need help coming up with your bucket list item?”
“No.” Sloane squeezes me tighter. “We each need to figure out a personal challenge on our own.”
“But what if we don’t have anything that challenges us?” Iris asks.
“Everyone has something.” Sloane levels a look at our meticulous, organized, some might say anal-retentive friend.
Iris lived in Skylark for a few months as a teenager before returning last year for a job in the mayor’s office.
She and Sloane became friends in high school, and their bond endured.
At the start of our book club meetings, Iris seemed even more uncomfortable than me at trying to make small talk, but we’re both finding our way.
“I’ll think of something when it’s my turn,” Iris promises.
Sloane pats my shoulder, then pulls her hand away. “I appreciate you going first. Take your time coming up with your—”
“I want to have sex,” I say before I lose my nerve.
The ladies take the announcement in stride.
“We’ve already established there’s no such thing as a born-again virgin,” Molly reminds me.
“Can you be more specific?” Avah asks. “Do you want to have sex outside or with a stranger or—”
“I’m an actual virgin.”
We’re back to pin-drop silence, and I feel like I’m going to puke. Avah and Molly gape as if I admitted to having one of those weird obsessions like eating my own fingernails.
“I didn’t date in high school.” I try to shrug off how ridiculous I feel admitting all of this, only my shoulders bob up and down like they have a mind of their own. “Or college. Then my mom died, and I was raising Piper.”
“You weren’t conjoined,” Avah points out. “And you’re not ugly.”
“Crushing it with that compliment.” Molly pats Avah’s arm. “Absolutely crushing it.”
“You know what I mean,” Avah mutters.
“It’s perfect for our bucket list club,” Sloane says, and even though I’d like to crawl under the table until my cheeks stop burning like they’re on fire, which might take a while, something in her tone makes me turn to face her.
Sloane is smiling with tears in her eyes, but not the sad kind from before. These seem grateful. “This is exactly the kind of life-changing decision I hoped you all would find a way to make. Kristen Quinn would be so proud.”
Avah lets out a not-so-delicate snort. “She’s probably sad she didn’t recount her cherry-popping for an essay she could make money off.”
“She’s not about the money,” Sloane insists.
“Girl…” Avah’s blue eyes roll to the ceiling. “Have you looked at her Instagram? She’s living life like a Kardashian.”
“We are still in the ‘you need to shut your mouth’ part of the discussion,” Molly says and grimaces at Sloane, but Avah’s not exactly wrong. She’s been sending screenshots of Kristen Quinn’s posts and stories.
Sloane waves off their concerns. “We’re talking about Sadie. This means something to her.”
“I want to do it before my sister’s wedding. If I don’t give myself a timeframe…who knows how long it will take me. I’ve already got cobwebs in my vajayjay at the ripe old age of thirty-three.”
“How can we help?” Taylor asks.
Sloane claps her hands. “Let’s set you up on a dating app.”
“You need to try The Club,” Iris suggests. “That’s the one for casual sex. Unless you want insta-love and committed sex, in which case—”
“No dating app. I can figure this out,” I tell them. “I just needed the motivation, and now I’ve got it.”
Hopefully, by next month I’ll no longer be a virgin.
What a strange and wonderful and terrifying concept.
There was a line in The Year of Losing It about opening your mind to possibilities so the universe can bring you what you need.
I sure as hell hope that’s the case because it’s been a very long dry spell and I need a man…
stat. This could be the first step to a new and improved version of Sadie. One that’s way overdue.
“Yay for Kristen Quinn and The Year of Losing It,” Taylor says.
“Literally,” Avah adds and gently smacks Molly on the arm. “I will not be silenced.”
“Next month, I’m bringing duct tape,” Molly answers, winking at me.
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