Ayanna watched them go back and forth while sipping her coffee. It was strong, and while it was doing nothing to make her feel less hungover, here was another pleasure, to watch these two disagree, to sit on a small porch and be happy the leaves were still clinging to the trees, and to look down the block and see what jack-o’-lanterns had survived the night before. The women were arguing, but it felt like being around a mother and daughter who had a malleable relationship moving between familial to platonic to bantering. Ayanna had a low tolerance for bickering, but there was something about watching an eighty-two-year-old obliterate a thirty-five-year-old that made her heart sing.

“I read your books and everyone is having bad sex. Everyone is getting hate-crimed in big and small ways. That’s what my niece calls it, ‘hate-crimed literature.’ Feels a little too cute to me, but I can’t stop saying it now. Your next book better be more fun. You keep thinking about these negative things all the time; it’s going to hurt your soul.”

Meredith rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Goodreads.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Meredith took a big bite of pie. It was clear to Ayanna that it infuriated her that it was so good. If she was less nervous, Ayanna would have trolled both women by asking “Can any literature be good if it was written for profit?” She didn’t even believe in the question, but Ayanna knew it would set them both on a wild argument.

“The pie is delicious,” Ayanna said instead. “I like the marshmallow topping.”

“I like you,” Marlie said. She told Ayanna about the history of her book club, how all her friends seemed like they were looking for something to talk about that wasn’t kids or men. And the easiest thing seemed to be books. She told Ayanna the secret to getting older and enjoying it was to always give herself time to talk to friends about everything, not just hard things, not just small talk. “We still talked about our children, our loves, we all did. But we talk about the world, how we feel, we disagree, we eat well, and books gave us the space.”

Ayanna felt certain she was absolutely joining this book club, while feeling her anxieties about asking Marlie about Valerie ratcheting up.

“You look like you have something serious going on in there,” Marlie said.

“This is going to make me sound crazy,” Ayanna said. “Sorry, I mean make me sound wild. But I have a message for you from a woman named Valerie.”

Marlie was nonplussed. “I’ve known a lot of Valeries over the years.”

“She’s one who died when you were twenty-one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can we go inside for a little bit?”