I laugh. “No. I have their cookies already. Alice sent hers by FedEx and Tracy made them before she and Silver left.”

“It won’t be the same without them. They’re such an important part,” Jeannie says.

“We’re all important. And they’re here in spirit,” I say. I meet Jeannie’s eyes. “Hey, it’s time to start.”

We move into the living room. As though she needs the comfort and safety of its shelter, Charlene waits in an upholstered chair. You can smell the pine from the tree and cinnamon from the burning candles. My homemade peanut brittle, a family secret recipe I’ve never told anyone, and chocolate almonds grace each table. We crowd into the room sitting four on the sofa, one on each chair and ottoman. Juliet sits between Jeannie and Rosie. Well, at least they won’t be staring at each other.

Disney slides under the coffee table. I’ve brought a chair from my office and then all nine of us are nestled in place, each with wine or water, each talking to her neighbor.

“Uh-oh, Juliet and Jeannie are sitting together,” Charlene teases. “You know what happened when they did that last year.” We laugh, remembering their talk and raucous laughter that disrupted the flow of cookies and the stories that accompanied them.

I hold up my finger and wag it at them as though I’m talking to two little kids. “Can you girls be good tonight?”

They joke back, “We promise. We promise. Allie will keep us cool.”

“Yeah. Right.” Allie rolls her eyes. We all know she’s not controlling.

“Who wants to start?”

“I want to go last,” Taylor says. Taylor has wedged a chair so she can sit next to Allie, who is on the sofa. The chair is jammed between Sissy and Allie.

“I’ll start.” Rosie stands up and goes to get her bags of cookies. She brings them in two bags at a time and everyone starts talking. My cell phone is still quiet. I turn down the music and then sit at the edge of the party, close to the kitchen. I sip some wine. Now I get to enjoy the party. Charlene sits on one side of me, there’s a space for Vera when she arrives on the other side. Rosie has returned with the last of her bags. The talking and laughing has escalated.

“How does this work?” Sissy’s brows are twisted together. “What are we supposed to do?” Sissy has one of those faces that easily express emotions so that each movement she makes, raising her brows or smiling, resonates. Now, as she raises her brows, there’s a hint of anxiety, the first time I’ve sensed any discomfort from her.