“That’s okay,” she answers, sensing correctly that she’s not wanted.

Nathan shakes his head. “No, I insist. Let me get you a chair.”

“Nate, no. I can do it. Honestly. I’m not sick.”

But Nathan’s already gone to locate a chair, and once he’s returned we all settle into a rather stilted conversation about the coming school year and the start of soccer, although Patti’s boys have been playing football for nearly three weeks already.

Our kids appear periodically with requests for food and drink and ice cream, requests we all manage to resist to varying degrees.

“Hey, isn’t our book club meeting soon?” Patti asks with a small self-satisfied stretch. It’s nice just sitting here, feet up. The kids are happy. We’re happy. There’s nothing we have to do.

“One week,” I answer. I’m hosting the September meeting. Haven’t even thought about book club in a while. “I guess I better get reading.”

“You haven’t read The Glass Castle yet?” Monica’s lips purse disapprovingly.

I flex my toes. “It just sounds so depressing. Another memoir about a dysfunctional family. I mean, haven’t we read that already?”

“Book club isn’t genre reading, Taylor. We’re not just reading for the plot, but the beautiful prose.”

“I don’t find poverty, abusive parents, and alcoholism beautiful. No matter how one writes about it.” I’m irritated now. I don’t know why everyone gets such a vicarious thrill out of reading about childhood pain. I certainly don’t. “I wish we’d pick some different books this year. More uplifting subjects, maybe even some nonfiction.”

Monica rolls her eyes. “The Glass Castle is nonfiction.”

Monica so annoys me. I can’t even believe that we pretend to be friends. I don’t know why she does it. I do it because she’s Patti’s childhood friend, and Patti says she has a good side, although I haven’t seen it.

“The point is,” I answer, folding my hands neatly in my lap, “that we’ve read lots of stuff like this before, and I thought we could maybe read something more uplifting.”

Monica laughs. “Like what? The Secret?”

My face suddenly feels hot. She knows I’ve been reading the book and have it on DVD, too.

Thankfully, Nathan saves me from having to answer by placing his palm on my bare thigh. “We should head home.” He lightly rubs down to my knee. “Feed the kids dinner.”

Grateful, I cover his hand with mine and squeeze.