Sheila Roberts - Better Than Chocolate

Once through the sliding glass doors both sisters turned and waved a final goodbye. She waved back and swallowed a lump in her throat. Not for the first time she wished they lived closer, but a girl had to follow her dreams. It was too bad their dreams had led them all in different directions.

She heaved a sigh, then got in her trusty Toyota and began the two-hour drive back to the other side of the mountains. She’d barely get home in time to bake cookies before going to hang out with her other sisters, sisters of the heart. Monday wasn’t normally a party night but tonight was an exception.

Back home, Samantha baked up the cookie dough Bailey had left in her freezer. Then she pulled on her down coat and her winter boots and walked the short distance from her condo to her friend Charley’s snug little house, which overlooked Icicle Creek. A moonlit sky speckled with stars lit her way, but she could have found the house just as easily by following the noise. A soundtrack of Gloria Gaynor singing “I Will Survive” was blasting an accompaniment to raucous laughter. Obviously the party was in full swing.

She walked around to the back of the house. The deck was lit with several strings of pink flamingo party lights. Patio chairs sprawled every which way and a picnic table was laden with salads and desserts. But the action was taking place around the fire pit on the lawn, and in the center of it all stood Charlene Albach. Charley, a slender woman in her mid-thirties with dark hair cut in a messy bob, looked fashionable in jeans, ankle boots and a faux-fur-trimmed jacket. She was holding what had to be the world’s largest wineglass and dumping a handful of photos onto a roaring bonfire.

“Samantha, get yourself down here,” she called. “We’re burning weenies.”

The symbolism wasn’t lost on Samantha and she smiled as she put her cookies on the table. She plucked one off the plate and then walked down to join the group of women gathered around the fire. One she recognized as Charley’s older sister, Amy, who had come up from Portland for the occasion. And there was Elena, Samantha’s loyal secretary; Lauren, her teller from the bank; her pal Cassandra Wilkes from Gingerbread Haus; Heidi Schwartz, who worked part-time in the Sweet Dreams gift shop; and Rita Reyes and Maria Gomez, who worked for Charley at her restaurant, Zelda’s—all present to help Charley celebrate her first official day of freedom. Earlier that morning Charley’s divorce had become final.

She set aside her glass and handed Samantha a hot dog skewered on a stainless-steel toasting fork. “Welcome to the celebration. Have a dick-on-a-stick.”

From their side of the fire Rita and Maria laughed uproariously. “I need more wine,” Rita said. “Can I get you some?” she asked Samantha.

Samantha didn’t have much of a palate for wine. She shook her head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You have to drink something. We’re going to be toasting my future, you know,” Charley said. “Get her some of that ChocoVine. It tastes just like Baileys. You’ll like it,” she informed Samantha. “Trust me.”

“‘Trust me’—isn’t that what worthless old Richard said to you?” quipped her sister.

Charley scowled. “Yes, he did.” She picked up more pictures of her ex and sprinkled them over the fire. “Here, baby, make yourself useful.”

All the women sent up a cheer, including Samantha. Even as she did, she thought of her mother, probably sitting home in that yellow leather chair of hers, wishing Waldo was still alive. But there was leaving and there was leaving. Waldo hadn’t left voluntarily. Richard had opted for a dishonorable discharge from marriage, taking off with the hostess from Zelda’s.

Either way, though, both women had wound up on their own. When it came right down to it, Samantha concluded, the one person a girl could count on was herself.

“So,” Cass said, raising her glass after Rita had returned to the fire. “To a new and better future for our girl here.”

“To a new and better future,” they all echoed and drank.

“And to never having to watch another football game,” Cass added.

“I’ll drink to that,” said Maria. “My boyfriend.” She rolled her eyes. “One of these days he’s going to turn into a football.”

“Better than turning into a cheater.” Charley threw another pile of photos on the fire. “I am so glad I found out what kind of man Richard really was before I wasted another twelve years on him.”

“Twelve years is a long time,” Amy said.

For a moment Charley’s eyes glistened with tears but she lifted her chin and said, “Too long, and I’m not wasting so much as a minute missing that man. He can have his new woman and his new restaurant in the city. Seattle’s loss is my gain. And I have the bed all to myself now.”

“I’m jealous,” her sister murmured.

“I can watch as many episodes of What Not to Wear as I want,” Charlie continued, “leave the dishes in the sink and spend my money however I decide. And I bet I’ve lost more weight than anyone here.”

“You do look great,” Samantha agreed.

“You would, too, if you’d lost a hundred and fifty-five pounds of dead weight,” Charley cracked, “and good riddance.”

“You know, I never liked him,” Cass said.

“Me, neither,” Charley’s sister threw in.

“Why didn’t you guys say something?” Charley demanded. “No, never mind, don’t answer that. I probably wouldn’t have listened.”

“Love is blind,” Cass said. “And dumb.”

As the night went on the women shared memories, collecting evidence that Richard the defector was indeed nothing but a rat. The wine flowed and the party got increasingly loud, especially when Charley cranked up the CD and the women started singing at the top of their lungs to “Before He Cheats,” “Over It” and “I Can Do Better.”

Finally a neighbor a couple of houses away hollered, “Shut up over there,” and everyone giggled.

The food and drink was consumed and the fire had flickered down to embers and the women remembered they had to work the following day. Charley smiled around the circle at all of them. “Thanks for coming, you guys, and for helping me feel positive about the future.”

“You’re always positive about the future,” Heidi said. “I’m not sure I could be if I was in your shoes.”

Samantha doubted Heidi—with a husband who adored her and an adorable baby—would ever have to worry about that.

Charley managed a shrug. “There were a few times this past year when I didn’t feel very positive at all. But you know what? I’m taking back my life. I’ve got a lot of years ahead of me and I intend to enjoy every one of them.”

“You think you’ll ever get married again?” Heidi asked.

Charley made a cross with her fingers as if warding off a vampire. “Bite your tongue.”

“You might want somebody around to bite yours once in a while.” Rita laughed. “Or other parts of you.”

“Men are still good for some things,” Elena put in. “In fact, they’re good for a lot of things. You shouldn’t give up on all of them just because you got a bad one.”

“Yes,” said Lauren, who was dating Joe Coyote, the nicest man in town.

“Well, when you find a good one, let me know and I’ll take him—to the cleaner’s.” Charley’s comment made everyone laugh. “Seriously,” she added, “love’s a gamble, and I’m done gambling.”

“Heck, all of life’s a gamble,” Samantha said.

Charley gave her a one-armed hug. “You’re right. But I’m going to make sure the deck’s stacked in my favor, so from now on I’ll just keep men as friends.”

“Friends with benefits?” Rita teased as they tossed the last of the paper plates on the embers.