“You’re right,” I said. “Most of what I know about friends I learned from you guys.”
Dear Diary,
Jasper, if you’re reading my diary again, I have one word for you: thanks.
M.P.M.
Chapter 31
“Mary!” Doug cried as I walkedthrough the door of Tome Raider that afternoon. “And you’re not alone!”
I was too incandescent with relief to mind being exposed as a pathetic loner. If the shoe fit, and all that.
Arden shrugged out of her coat, draping it over the back of a chair. “What’s on the menu, D?”
“Snow Queen meringues. A fluffy outside with glassy shards of spun sugar in the middle.”
Terry’s hand shot up. “Make mine a double.”
Doug paused on his way to the kitchen. “Did you bring posters for the show, Mary?”
“Uh, yeah.” My cheeks reddened as I extracted the flyers forOthellofrom my backpack. “You’re all invited to the dress rehearsal on Thursday. It’s friends and family night.”
“How cool.” Arden grabbed a flyer from the stack. “Very VIP.”
“It will be,” I agreed. “Doug’s doing the refreshments.”
“I’m trying something new,” he chimed in, returning from the kitchen with a plate of meringues. “I call them Desdemona’s Pillows. But just between us it’s basically apastelito.”
Terry reached for a meringue. “My mom makes those.”
“Really?” Doug rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “I don’t suppose she shares her recipes?”
“Yeah.” Terry held a hand in front of her mouth to hide the chewing. “Why not?”
“Great! Would she be willing to email me? I can give you my address.” He patted his pockets, searching for a writing implement.
“Or maybe she could stop by?” Arden suggested.
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Doug demurred.
“We’ll set it up,” she assured him.
“If you’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble, that would be wonderful!” There was a definite spring in his step on the way back to the kitchen, Birkenstocks notwithstanding.
Arden watched the door close behind him. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“About the pastelitos?” It was hard for Terry to concentrate on other things when dessert was involved.
“About your mom. You’ve been saying she needs to get out more.” When Terry looked at her blankly, Arden jerked a thumb toward the kitchen door. “Why not him? He’s single, he’s like a big gentle bear, he can cook—she could do a lot worse.”
Lydia swiped at the corner of her mouth, brushing off meringue crumbs. “I thought we were getting out of the matchmaking business.”
Arden flashed her a look of bewilderment. “Why?”
“Because of ... everything?” Lydia reminded her. “We can’t just assume people want to be fixed up.”
“Of course not,” Arden said easily. “We won’tassumeanything. Terry can ask her mom first.” She bit into a meringue, catching the pieces that crumbled in her cupped hand. “Now that’s settled, let’s go back to that fateful night. What did we miss, Mary?”
