Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“So, um, a Jell-O shot is…” Greta paused, trying to figure out how disgusting a Jell-O shot might sound to someone as refined and, well, old as Muriel.
“I know what it is, dear,” Muriel said. “Could I trouble you for something a tad more liquid?”
“Of course, sure, lemme just…”
Greta squeezed behind the drinks table and poured Muriel a glass of Veronica and Helen’s lemonade that had not been gelatinized. “My friends make this. It’s really good. Well, I like it…”
Muriel took a sip. “Delicious!” she proclaimed, and Greta felt a surge of pride. Her friends had made that. Her friends.
“Want to meet my…” She’d been about to say girlfriend. Could she say that about someone she’d only known for a few weeks? “Carys?”
Muriel nodded, a twinkle in her eye, and they crossed to where Carys was arguing intently about math with two people who must’ve been fellow grad students.
“Omigosh, you must be Muriel,” Carys said, interrupting herself midsentence. “I’m so glad to meet you. Greta’s told me so much about you.”
She held out a hand to shake, but Muriel leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“A pleasure, my dear. I hear you’re a mathematician, so I wonder if you can explain something to me…”
Greta left them in deep conversation as someone grabbed her shoulder.
Ramona held out her arms.
“Hey, dude! I brought a friend. Hope you don’t mind.”
Ramona inclined her head to the man with her, who was dressed in purple from head to toe—suit, shirt, tie, and shoes—and mouthed, “Hot, right?”
Greta gave them both a thumbs-up and took them to get Jell-O shots.
After half an hour or so, Helen and Veronica emerged from the kitchen and struck dramatic poses in the doorway.
“The food’s ready!” Helen yelled over the music. “Plates are by the door, garbage can is by the hallway. I know each and every one of you motherfuckers—well, okay, not you…or you,” they said, indicating Ramona and her friend. “And, damn, why don’t I know you?” they asked Muriel, who responded with a flirtatious wave. “Anyway, throw away your trash or you won’t get invited back, you hear me?” they concluded.
A cheer and a flurry of thumbs-ups came from the crowd, and people made a beeline for the food.
Greta followed, stomach growling, excited to see what had kept Helen and Veronica up all night.
The large kitchen was lit by lava lamps, and platters of exquisite-looking morsels crowded every surface.
Lamb meatballs with mango-mint chutney; soppressata, pear, and brie muffulettas; red beans and rice arancini; fried green tomatoes with hot pepper jelly; baklava made with Veronica’s honey; lavender lemon poundcake bites; cinnamon-sugar beignets with bacon glaze. Every platter was neatly labeled in Veronica’s swooping handwriting.
And there, in pride of place on the stove, a huge platter heaped with latkes. HAPPY CHANUKAH! the label said. To the right of the platter were a dish of applesauce and one of sour cream. Behind each was a jar, and another sign said CAST YOUR VOTE: APPLESAUCE OR SOUR CREAM? Beads sat in a dish to be used as voting tokens.
Greta had waxed poetic to Carys, Helen, and Veronica about her mom’s latkes the other day at breakfast. She’d told them about the applesauce versus sour cream debate that divided not only the Russakoff family but any group of latke eaters. Helen had instantly chimed in, voting for sour cream, Carys had scoffed and chosen applesauce, and Veronica had said, “I vote ketchup.”
“A valid third-party vote,” Greta had said.
There, next to the applesauce and sour cream, sat a bottle of ketchup.
Tears came to Greta’s eyes when she saw that in addition to the latkes, Helen and Veronica had also made cookies in the shape of dreidels and kugel bites.
“Is it okay?” Helen said from behind her, voice just a touch uncertain.
Greta whirled around and grabbed them in a tight hug. “It’s fucking perfect,” she said.
Veronica approached, and Greta hugged her too.
“Thank you both,” she said. “It’s the best Chanukah I’ve ever had.”
And it was.
“You haven’t tried any of it yet,” Veronica muttered.
“It doesn’t matter.”
But she piled her plate high with a bit of everything and was able to honestly tell them that their latkes were as good as her mom’s.
The look of pride on Veronica’s face was everything. She leaned in. “It was Carys’ idea. She wanted you to feel like you weren’t missing out on too much by not being at home.”
Greta’s heart melted, and she went to look for Carys. Greta found her in conversation with Muriel and slid her arms around her waist from behind.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and even though she didn’t explain, she could tell Carys knew what she was talking about.
Carys reached a hand back and squeezed her shoulder, imparting her tactile You’re welcome without interrupting Muriel. Taking her cue, Greta pressed a kiss to her cheek, then left them to their conversation.