The Sunday Potluck Club

by Melissa Storm

  “The Sunday Potluck Club’s a much better name,” Trent said with another chuckle.

  Yes, the Sunday Potluck Club. That gave Amy an idea. It pushed itself into her brain and filled the whole thing up, making it hard for her to focus on anything else. This could be a great idea, or it could be one of the worst things she’d come up with yet. Whatever the case, she had to at least put it out there. “You should come. Olivia, too.”

  Trent raised both eyebrows and stared at her, dumbfounded. “To the Sunday Potluck Club?”

  She nodded emphatically. “You told me yourself you’ve been lonely. Everyone there has lost someone we love to cancer. And, hey, judging by the way you reacted to my bringing pizza tonight, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a guaranteed good meal once a week, either. You should definitely come.”

  “Okay,” he said with a smile. “Then we’ll come.”

  Trent tapped his fingers on the table, playing out a gentle beat, then craned his neck to look into Amy’s cup. “More tea?” he asked with a smile that was neither too big nor barely there. It was a modest smile, a comfortable one—and it told Amy she was making progress with him, too.

  “Yes, please,” she said, not because she wanted more tea, but because she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to Trent yet.

  Chapter 17

  Amy floated away from Trent’s on a cloud of happiness. Honestly, she was lucky she didn’t wind up having another accident because of it. For the first time in more than a year, she had a crush—a real one, where it seemed the object of her affection might return her interest, too.

  A crush itself was fine, she supposed, especially considering she knew better than to act on it. Spending some time helping Trent and Olivia acclimate to Anchorage wasn’t wrong. Eventually, they’d build a new life that suited them; then they wouldn’t need Amy anymore. Their friendship had a limited shelf life. As long as Amy knew that going in, then she’d be fine.

  They’d all be fine. Just because the women in the Sunday Potluck Club had decided to remain friends once their reason for coming together was no more, that didn’t mean every such arrangement had to be permanent. And it wasn’t as if Amy wouldn’t get something out of their time together, too. She was still healing herself. That’s why she and Trent had gravitated toward each other. They saw something of themselves in each other and found comfort there.

  Apparently, Olivia did, too.

  Because the next day at school, the little girl made eye contact with her teacher and even mumbled one-word answers when Amy addressed her directly. Progress! They were finally making progress, and the realization made her heart soar.

  If one evening could accomplish such a rapid turnabout, what might several more do?

  Amy smiled at the thought of more movies with Olivia, more teas with Trent.

  Olivia’s doing much better today, she texted him at lunchtime.

  His response came back immediately. Awesome! How about you?

  I’m good, too, she said with a smile both on her face and in the text conversation. You?

  Freezing! Does it ever stop snowing here?

  She laughed and shook her head. Let me guess, you’re from the lower forty-eight?

  Seattle. The rain I can handle, but all this snow? I’m beginning to think I should have taken the job in Florida instead.

  Amy frowned as she tried to picture a timeline where she hadn’t met Trent or Olivia. Would she still be wallowing in her depression and avoiding time with her friends?

  The three little dots popped up again, followed by Kidding!

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she sent him an emoji with its tongue sticking out.

  I’m glad we’re here, and I’m glad Olivia has you for a teacher.

  They continued to text back and forth for the rest of the lunch period. Amy caught herself chuckling quietly as she thought back on Trent’s glib jokes and their easy conversation throughout the rest of that day, drawing curious stares and even a bit of ribbing from her students.

  Even with all their chatter, Trent still hadn’t invited her back to his house again. Perhaps that was because she’d invited him to join them for the potluck that Sunday, and he didn’t want to seem too pushy. Today was only Thursday, and Sunday felt impossibly far away. Still, the next move had to be his. She didn’t want to force him or Olivia into anything more than they could reasonably handle, and she didn’t want to appear like a desperate, love-struck fool, either.

  Even though she felt more and more as if she was becoming one inside.

  That could be her little secret. Nobody else needed to know.

  On her drive home from school, her phone buzzed, and she immediately switched it over to her Bluetooth speakers. “Hello?” she answered breathlessly, eager to hear his voice after just messaging.

  “Hello! Hello? Who has time for hello?” Bridget cried frantically.

  Disappointment washed over Amy, but she quickly shook it off. It was for the best that Trent hadn’t been the one on the other end of the line. She’d already spent far too much time thinking of him the past few days. It wasn’t healthy.

  “What’s up, B?” she asked, taking a slow, steady breath and letting it out.

  “Do you realize there’s just over one week left until Valentine’s Day?” Bridget demanded.

  Before Amy could answer, Bridget continued her tirade. “What was I thinking, giving myself so little time to get everything together?”

  “We tried to tell you,” Amy pointed out nervously. She had no idea how best to support her friend right now. Hopefully, Bridget would tell her soon enough.

  “No, you guys said it was impossible,” Bridget corrected with a frustrated growl. “The event isn’t impossible, but it’s also not possible for me to pull it off on my own.”

  Amy laughed and shook her head. “What do you need, B?”

  “I need you to put your entire life on hold and help me put on the best dog adoption event Anchorage has ever seen.” She took a deep breath after squeezing all the words out super fast and at an uncomfortably high pitch.

  “Is that all?” Amy asked.

  “Don’t tease me,” Bridget whined. Amy could hear her track pants swishing as she paced on the other side of the call. “It’s for a good cause. You met the dogs. They’re nice, and they deserve this, so go find Hazel and then come over to my house, STAT.”

  “What about Nichole?”

  Bridget groaned again, but ultimately acquiesced. “Yeah, I guess I can forgive her, if she’s willing to help. Four pairs of hands are better than three.”

  “What happened between the two of you?” Amy asked, curious to hear Bridget’s version of events. Based on what Nichole had told her, she’d only expressed the same concerns that both Hazel and Amy had shared as well. Why was Bridget singling out Nichole? Did she even know the real reason herself?

  Her friend breathed heavily, gasping for each word. What the heck was she doing over there?

  “Doesn’t matter right now,” Bridget eked out. “All that matters is making Date-a-Rescue a barking success!”

  Amy giggled again—so hard she had to force herself to stop so that it didn’t interfere with her ability to drive safely. “A barking success?” she managed to ask, once she’d finally brought her laughing under control.

  “I can’t help it. I’ve been working on the event write-up between patients all day, and my brain is just overloaded with dog puns. I was thinking of a Rover-O and Julie-Whippet theme, but then I realized that’s probably only funny because my brain is straight-up fried. Besides, we don’t even have any whippets up for adoption.”

  Oh, yeah. Bridget was definitely at her wit’s end. Luckily, Amy was more than able to help. Being there for Bridget would mean she’d have less time to daydream about Trent, but, luckily, that was just what she needed. She could help both of them—and some very deserving rescue dogs—all in one go.

  “I’ll gather the others and we’ll all come over to help. Okay?”

  “Bless you,
” Bridget said before hanging up her phone abruptly.

  Amy just shook her head and laughed. Rover-O and Julie-Whippet? Yup, that was comically bad.

  Poor Bridget had definitely bitten off more than she could chew, but as always, Amy and the others were ready to jump at her command. It’s what friends did. Besides, they’d always liked having a project to keep their minds and hands busy. At least this time it wasn’t a funeral.

  As good as it felt to help—Bridget, Trent, Olivia—anyone who needed her, new worries nagged at Amy’s overworked mind.

  What would happen to Bridget once the event had come and gone? Regardless of whether it turned out to be a success, not having the planning to fill her days might finally force her to come to grips with her grief.

  Even more worrying still, Amy wondered if she might be doing the exact same thing with Trent and Olivia in place of the shelter dogs.

  Sure, it felt good to ride the wings of a new infatuation, but what would happen when both she and Bridget suddenly remembered that neither of them had ever been able to fly?

  Chapter 18

  Amy had to push hard on Bridget’s apartment door in order to get inside. “B!” she called as she stepped over the heavy crate that had stymied her entry.

  “In here!” Bridget answered from one of the bedrooms.

  It looked like a laundry bomb had exploded right in the middle of her friend’s apartment. Everywhere Amy turned another dirty article of clothing lay in her path. A fetid smell also wafted from the kitchen, causing Amy to gag. Bridget’s apartment had always been untidy before, but never disgusting.

  She stopped into the kitchen and found dishes piled high in the sink and the counters covered with crumpled takeout bags and empty soda cans.

  “Amy?” Bridget called again.

  “I’ll be there soon. Just give me a few minutes first,” she answered while stooping down to search for a box of garbage bags under the sink. Eventually, Bridget would come looking for her—but until then, she at least had to try to make a dent in this terrible mess.

  Amy rummaged about hurriedly, finally finding the roll of garbage bags pushed against the very back of the cupboard. In her search, she also found a can of air freshener, which this place definitely needed. Stuffing all the obvious refuse into the bag as quickly as she could, she filled up the first bag and started working on a second.

  “Hazel and Nichole are on their way!” she informed Bridget as she moved toward the living room, spraying pine-scented chemicals as she went.

  “Ugh. I knew it!” Bridget cried as she appeared suddenly, then marched straight up to Amy and grabbed the can away. “I knew you’d try to clean.”

  Amy shrugged noncommittally. “Well, yeah, it’s reaching health code violation proportions here, B. If you just give me a couple hours, I can have it good as new, though.” It would take much longer than that to reach Amy’s desired level of clean, but her friend’s agitation seemed to suggest a compromise might be in order.

  Bridget grabbed the trash bag from her, too, and tossed it into the corner of the room. “Please just . . . Don’t. I need you to help with the adoption event. I’ll clean this place once it’s over.”

  “I really don’t mind,” Amy said as she attempted to snatch the aerosol spray away before Bridget tossed it, too.

  “Well, I do.” Bridget paced across the apartment and shoved the air freshener back under the sink. When she stood up again, her face appeared red—whether from anger, exhaustion, or both, Amy couldn’t say.

  “Can’t you just support me as a friend right now, please?” she said, hugging her arms to her chest.

  Amy balked. She’d thought that was what she’d been doing, but apparently not. “Fine,” she said at last. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Thank you.” Bridget led her back to the bedroom, which was thankfully, and rather miraculously, clean. Papers covered every possible surface, but nothing was rotting. Nothing smelled.

  Her friend stood in the center of it all, the eye in a hurricane of her own making. She motioned toward the left, and her voice returned to its normal tone. “On this side we have facts and records. Things about the dogs, some online applications people have already filled out for the event, and the doggie dating profiles.”

  She spun around and pointed in the direction of the closet. “Over there we have financials. Receipts, fee schedules, rental costs, donation checks. If it has a dollar sign, it’s there.”

  After another forty-five-degree turn, Bridget sank to her knees. She looked so, so tired. Why was she killing herself with this? Couldn’t the same event be equally successful next month?

  Bridget yawned, then shook the sleepiness off in irritation. “Here are our pictures, flyers, banner mock-ups, anything visual. I was working on this one before you arrived.” Bridget thumbed a half-completed sketch and sighed.

  “It’s really pretty,” Amy said, taking in the cute cartoon dogs and large block text. “What’s it for?”

  “Swag,” Bridget answered with another dramatic sigh. “Although I’m seriously worried that I won’t be able to get it delivered in time. We’re T minus six days here, and I don’t even have the final event logo.”

  “Can you use the shelter’s logo?” Amy suggested. She wanted to help, but she was also frightened of saying or doing the wrong thing. Her friend was so tightly wound that one more crank could send her rattling over the edge.

  Bridget surreptitiously wiped at her fresh-formed tears. Amy noticed, even though she was fairly certain Bridget would prefer she didn’t.

  “People already have shirts and hats and stuff with the shelter logo. Something new will bring in more money. It will help more dogs,” she explained as her lower lip quivered. Catching herself, she shook her head again. Bridget’s mind and body were at war, and it looked as though both might lose in the end.

  Amy placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder, hoping it might offer the reassurance she so desperately needed now. “Understood. How can I help?”

  Bridget sniffed. A smile flashed across her face but was quickly replaced by something more drawn. “Can you proofread my flyers, web copy, doggie dating profiles, and social media posts? I’ve been staring at everything for so long that I worry I’m missing something major.”

  “Of course. Over here, right?” Amy tiptoed her way across the room back to the first section Bridget had pointed out.

  “Thanks,” Bridget mumbled as she picked up her sketchbook and returned to work on the logo.

  They sat silently, each working on her assigned task until a racket sounded in the living room. “Nic and I are here!” Hazel called, then ran right into that big crate and stubbed her toe. “Ouch! B? What’s that smell? Are you all right?”

  Bridget groaned but made no movement to get up.

  “You stay here,” Amy said. “I’ll go get them.” She ambled toward the doorway, then paused and turned back toward her friend. “Want Hazel to balance your expense sheets since she has the most business experience?”

  “Good idea,” Bridget said without looking up. “Maybe Nichole can start organizing the welcome-home packs for each of the dogs’ new families once they get adopted.”

  “You’ve got it, boss.” Amy closed the door behind her as she left Bridget behind and went to greet their other friends.

  It seemed Hazel had the same idea she did upon first arriving and had already taken up the trash bag Bridget had stolen from Amy. She flitted around the living room, grabbing whatever she could find, while Nichole stood by the door staring blankly at everything.

  “You were right to be worried about her. This . . .” Nichole mumbled. “Well, it’s not good,” she finished with a sigh.

  Amy raised a finger to her lips and lowered her voice. “Don’t say anything about it to B. Just help with her event and let her be for now.”

  Hazel came to join them by the door. “Can’t we at least pick up a little first?”

  Amy shook her head. “Believe me, I tried. She wants
our help with the event. Nothing more.”

  “But she’s showing classic signs of—” Nichole began.

  “Let’s just get her through the event first,” Amy said before Nichole could start flinging diagnoses around. “It’s really important to her.”

  “It’s in eight days, right?” Hazel asked.

  Amy nodded.

  “C’mon, Nic. We can give her eight days,” Hazel said agreeably.

  “To what?” Nichole asked with a frown. “Sink further into this slump?”

  “If you call her on it, she’s going to push you away again,” Amy pointed out. “Let’s help her make this event a success. After that, I’ll talk to her.”

  Nichole heaved a giant sigh. “You know she’s not going to listen, right?”

  “Yeah, but I still have to try,” Amy said. After all, she was the caretaker, the peacemaker. It was up to her to make sure everything turned out all right. First, they’d help the dogs; then she could work on Bridget.

  Chapter 19

  Amy presented Hazel and Nichole with their assigned tasks, even though she didn’t know much more about Bridget’s adoption event than they did. Still, it seemed as if Bridget needed everyone there and working—but also to leave her alone.

  When Amy finished proofreading the various printouts Bridget had entrusted to her, she gathered everything into a neat pile in the corner of the room, then went to help Nichole prepare the dogs’ going-home folders. They’d been working together for about twenty minutes when Trent texted:

  What are you up to tonight?

  Helping a friend, she typed back, turning so that Nichole couldn’t read the message over her shoulder. How about you?

  Quiet night in with Liv.

  Amy closed her eyes and pictured the two overstuffed couches in Trent’s living room. If she were there now, would he slide even closer to her than he had last night? Would Olivia speak to her in longer sentences or even initiate a conversation on her own? Would Amy still feel like she was ready-made to fill the missing spot in their family?