Chapter 1
Sarah
“Hey, ladies! Come on in.” I swing open my front door with a flourish, shifting the champagne glass to my other hand as I usher in a colorful parade of pajama-clad girlfriends.
Cassie stops to tug the bright yellow drawstring at the waist of my smiley-face flannel PJs. “Great pants,” she says. “They’re very you.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I take a sip of champagne. “Funny, the ex who bought them for me said the same thing.” I bump the door closed with my hip. “For the record, it’s a bad sign when the guy you’re having sex with buys you sleepwear that suggests you should cover up more.”
Her sisters Missy and Lisa glide toward my kitchen wearing silk pajamas like something from a fashion runway. They set to work popping a bottle of Dom Pérignon and laying out a charcuterie spread that would put Martha Stewart to shame.
“You’re beautiful, smart, and you have a great rack,” one of them calls. “There’s a reason that guy is an ex.”
“True enough.” I turn my attention back to Cassie and Junie, who stand in the entryway beside me. Cassie gives me a fond eyeroll and shoves a hand in the pocket of her practical gray sweatpants. She’s always been the odd woman out with her sisters, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.
“Simon insisted on sending us in a limo,” Cassie informs me. “It’s entirely possible we polished off a whole bottle of champagne on the way.”
“Atta girl.” I give Cassie a high five, then hold up a hand so Junie can do the same.
“No, it’s your birthday.” Junie throws her arms around me, engulfing me in the world’s most exuberant hug. “You get hugs on your birthday, everyone knows that.”
I’m grinning as Junie squeezes me tight enough to squish the air from my lungs. For six years she’s been my favorite resident at the group home I manage for adults with Down Syndrome, and we’ve grown closer since Cassie got engaged to Junie’s brother, Simon.
That’s basically what brought the whole pack of us together, and there’s no one else I’d rather be with to ring in this milestone birthday.
“How old are you?” Junie pulls back from the hug to accept a bubble-filled glass from Lisa.
“The big three-oh.” This is one of those times I’m grateful that Junie’s bluntness saves us from dancing around awkward topics. “Thirty years old and free as a bird.”
I lift my champagne in a toast to myself, and the ladies do likewise. Even Junie, who doesn’t like the taste of alcohol, has a fancy champagne flute brimming with the expensive French sparkling cider Lisa always brings for her.
I can’t help noticing the look the ladies exchange as they arrange plates of hors d’ouvres on my coffee table. The five of us settle on my living room sofas for the official start of this birthday pajama party.
“There’s nothing wrong with being single and thirty,” Cassie says, swirling the golden bubbles in her champagne flute. “You’re hot, you have a great career, and amazing friends.”
“Hear, hear.” We all take another healthy swig from our glasses.
“I’m not worried about it.” This is not entirely true, but I don’t want to be that cliché of a woman whining into her champagne about how hard it is to be single. “I did always think I’d be married by thirty, but goals change.”
I was trying for inspirational with the tone of that last bit, but I think I missed the mark. Everyone’s shooting me smiles that are halfway between encouraging and sympathetic.
Everyone except Junie, who hands me a bowl of fat Castelvetrano olives that she knows are my favorite. “You said no presents, but I got you these.”
God bless Junie.
“I also made you a scarf anyway, because you like yellow and I’m the best in my knitting class.” She places the unwrapped gift in my lap like it’s a beloved pet, and the bright rows of colors shift as my eyes fill with tears.
“Junie, it’s beautiful.”
It is. She used four different shades of yellow yarn, and it reminds me of sunbeams. I lift it off my knee, savoring the softness of the yarn, and wind it around my neck with the reverence it deserves. “Thank you so much.”
Junie grins and hugs me again. “I love you, Sarah.”
“I love you, too.”
I release Junie and reclaim my olives as the rest of my friends murmur their own words of love and encouragement.
But it’s Junie’s words that touch me the most. As the rest of the ladies chatter happily about birthdays and appetizers and tomorrow’s brunch plans, the warm pinch of nostalgia in the center of my chest reminds me how I got into my line of work.
