“I almost forgot,” Ruth said, standing up and going to the kitchen. “I got us the good stuff.” She plucked a bottle of Moët from the fridge and brought it back, looking worriedly at Jezebel as she did so. “Try covering her ears. I’ll go open this outside.”

The pop wasn’t as loud as I’d been expecting but I still had to wrap my arms around Jez to calm her.

“No, thanks,” I said to Ruth when she was back and trying to fill our glasses. I expected her to say, Fine, more for me! but instead her face fell.

“Come now,” she said. “Live a little. It’s your birthday and a good day for me too because you’re now as old as I am!”

I was touched that she’d remembered. My birthday had always faded into insignificance when we were children, mostly because of the religious holiday and also because Ma wasn’t big on celebrating them. Still, I wasn’t in the mood for festivities and told her as much.

Ruth put the bottle down and then took a deep, bracing breath. “Listen, Dee. I know you’ve had a really shitty few months. Believe me, I know. And I have too, what with my separation and me missing Vince so damn much. I know we didn’t get off to the best start, which, to be honest, is mostly your fault because you’re a pain in my ass and not exactly a party to be around. But I hate seeing you this miserable and not being able to do anything about it—”

“Ruth, I—”

“Shh, let me finish. We’re stuck here together and in case you haven’t noticed, it’s us against the world. Between Mandla and the farm, we’re public enemy number one and I don’t know about you, but I’d be able to handle it much better if you and I weren’t waging a constant battle against each other.” She looked away and then looked back at me, her eyes pleading. “We don’t have to like each other, Dee, but can we just try and get along a bit better? And please just let me host this celebration for you. I know it probably won’t make you feel better, but it will make me feel less helpless, okay?”

I didn’t trust myself to speak when she was finished or to look at the tears that had formed in her eyes as she spoke. Instead, I lifted up my champagne flute and held it out for her. Ruth whooped as she filled it.

“Cheers!” I took a sip and forced myself not to wince at the dryness. “You weren’t joking about everything being roasted,” I said, forcing a smile as I looked at the spread of chicken, potatoes, sweetended baby carrots, and creamed spinach. “I didn’t know you could cook.”