“We take turns passing out the cookies. The first year we had it, everyone started exchanging simultaneously. If you can picture twelve people passing out thirteen batches of cookies, you can imagine the disaster. We had to spend hours figuring out who had whose cookies. Then we decided to exchange one at a time and, since we had each spent time making thirteen dozen cookies, to talk about that particular cookie. Our way to honor each woman’s effort. It makes the cookie and the work entailed special. That I guess was the first rule. That and no paper plates with saran wrap.”

“How’d this start?” Sissy’s brows are relaxed now and the glimmering of uncertainty erased.

“Back when Charlene and I were living together, we spent one night a year making six or eight different kinds of cookies. We called it the night of cooking and stirring and drinking and laughing. We’d stay up all night while the kids slept. Turned on a bunch of music and drank way too much. We did that for years. And then I was invited to a cookie exchange, and I decided to do that. Took about five years to get it gelled. The first few years we drank too much and partied too hard. I realized we needed food. So it’s evolved. We add rules as we recognize the need for them.”

Rosie stands by the end of the couch, her bags of goodies in front of her. “Okay, everyone,” she starts, but no one hears her except Juliet, who stops talking to Jeannie. “So.” Rosie says it louder and Taylor and Allie become quiet. But Laurie still giggles at something Allie said.

Rosie tries again. She puts her hand on her hip and scowls. Doesn’t say a word, just looks at each of us with a schoolteacher’s glare on her face and we shut up. It’s her turn and she wants our attention. Her perfectly coiffed hair and manicured hand on her hip and the furrows between her brows, her height as she stands while we’re all sitting, finally gets us quiet.