Laurie says, “Well, after all, tomorrow’s a workday.”

“And Olivia awaits.” Rosie voice is light, but there’s a tinge of jealousy.

I retrieve my bags and say, “Babies and husbands and lovers and jobs are waiting.”

Everyone drifts in and takes her seat. At every party, each of us picks a spot and it’s ours for the night. During cookie hand-out time, we sit in that same seat as though it’s been ours for years and we’ll never relinquish it. The next year, we choose a different chair and guard it just as vigilantly.

“Good news. I just got a call from Sky and her baby is fine. A girl.”

A chorus of “Yay,” “Oh, I’m so glad,” “Thank God,” “What a relief,” come so fast I can’t distinguish them. “Hear, hear.” Rosie holds her wineglass high. “To Sky’s daughter.”

“To healthy babies everywhere.” Allie looks at Laurie and then at Taylor. “Ohmigod, that’s schmaltzy.”

“But a sincere and great wish,” Rosie says.

We each sip whatever is in our glasses. I toast with my decaf.

I start. “This year I want to add two more rules. Here they are: If the first Monday in December occurs right after the Thanksgiving weekend, then the cookie party will be on the second Monday. Like I moved it this year.”

“I remember how frantic everyone was a few years ago when that happened. Can’t cook for Thanksgiving and then immediately bake for this,” Vera says.

“Can’t eat Thanksgiving and turn around four days later and come here either.” Juliet has a piece of peanut brittle in her hand as she talks.

“Exactly. And the second one: Let’s email the recipes to one another. That way, I won’t have to type them all up and then email them. Simply email them to me or to all of us. That’ll make things easier.”

“That’s how I did it this year anyway,” Allie said.

“Well, I thought those were already rules,” Laurie says.

“Enough business.” I reach into the bag and pull out the animal-print makeup cases and start distributing them.

“These are so cool. So, so cool! I need a new makeup case anyway.” Rosie hands a snakeskin case to Juliet and it begins its round. Rosie’s attitude is breezy, maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the hint of reconciliation with Jeannie.

“These cookies are my grandmother’s pecan butter balls. To me they’re the ultimate butter-nut-sugar treat. I’ve made them before, and you gave them your seal of approval.” I pass a jaguar-printed case.

“Look. This matches my jacket!” Charlene says. “Think I’ll keep this one.” And sends on the zebra print that I pull out next.

By now Allie has opened her case and nibbles on a cookie. “Oh, I remember. I do love these.”