The Cookbook Club

by Beth Harbison

  She’d never know if Michael would have fought it or not. All she knew was that her intention was to let him be as involved in the baby’s life as he was willing to be; she was never going to play games with her child’s access to both parents. She was less sure that he would play as fair, if push for some reason came to shove.

  She even offered to let him come with them to the hospital and be in the delivery room, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, he went pale, and it was obvious he was too squeamish to be there.

  Which suited Aja just fine. Their intimacy had been limited to sex. In actual fact, she wasn’t that comfortable with him in real-life situations, like, say, giving birth.

  As soon as the document was signed, they rushed out the door—Trista yelling over her shoulder that she’d get a copy to him after she filed it—and they hit the road in Margo’s Lexus SUV to the hospital.

  It was a Saturday evening, mid-January, and for some reason the traffic was hellacious. Where Aja had felt relaxed at first, happily doing her yogic breathing through the initial contractions, as soon as they were sitting in traffic behind blaring red brake lights, not even the New Age flute meditation track she usually loved could calm her down.

  “Breathe,” Trista said calmly, but Aja noticed Margo’s grip on the wheel was tight. “You’ll be fine.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever done this? You’ve never done this!” She tried to breathe but another cramp gripped her.

  “Well, you’re going to be fine no matter what,” Trista reasoned. “But the hospital is, like, two miles away, so unless you’re really determined and pushing right now, you’re going to make it.”

  “I should call Lucinda,” Aja said.

  Margo and Trista looked at each other.

  “What?” Aja asked, then took a long breath in through her nose, held it for a moment, then expelled it through her parted lips.

  “Nothing,” Margo said, “if you want her there, you should definitely have her there.”

  “Right.” Aja nodded and took out her phone, then looked back at Margo. “Right?”

  Margo nodded, and from the backseat, Trista said, “Right. And if she causes any trouble, we’ll have an orderly kick her out.”

  Aja smiled despite herself and called Lucinda’s number. It only rang, no answer. Not even voicemail kicked in.

  She hung up and put the phone back in her purse. “I tried.”

  “There will be plenty of time for her to meet her grandchild,” Margo said.

  “I know, I just . . .” Aja felt inexplicably emotional. “I don’t know why, I thought she should be there. I think it would mean a lot to her.”

  “Maybe she’ll see that you called and figure out why,” Trista suggested. “Send me her contact info and I can keep trying while they triage you, if you want.”

  “Perfect.” Aja went to the “share contact” button and sent it to both Margo and Trista.

  Just a few minutes later, Margo was tearing into the ER entrance of the hospital. She pulled up out front and told Aja and Trista to go in, she’d park and meet them inside.

  The minute she was through the doors, under the bright fluorescent lights, Aja felt relieved. She’d made it this far. She wasn’t going to give birth on the roadside in Margo’s nice car. That would be unthinkable.

  They put her into a wheelchair immediately and took her up to the maternity ward. No sooner was she off the elevator than she locked eyes with Lucinda.

  “How did you know?” Aja asked.

  “I had a feeling,” Lucinda said, with a smile that was completely without artifice. “Then Michael called and told me. He’s on his way,” she added. “Don’t worry, I think he’s a waiting room kind of father. He can meet his son after he’s been cleaned up.”

  “Son?”

  Lucinda smiled again and gave the smallest wink. “Trust me. I have a feeling.”

  Epilogue

  Margo

  We have a new member,” Aja said, though they all knew it. Her relationship with Lucinda Carter was remarkable—the woman was as formal as a statue, and Aja whipped around her like a petal on the wind, and seemed to adore her. “This is Beau’s grandmother, Lucinda.”

  “Hi, Lucinda,” Trista said. “Good to see you again.” She winked and asked Aja, “So Michael has Beau overnight?”

  “Oh no.” Aja laughed. “No, no, no, I don’t think Michael’s going to want an overnight until Beau can completely express his needs in full sentences.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s terrified of getting it wrong. He went through—what was it?—like ten diapers before he got one on right the first time. Lord, I was doing laundry for days, it felt like.”

  “Cloth diapers.” Lucinda shook her head. “I thought we’d seen the last of those.”

  “Oh, but it’s so much better for his skin,” Aja said. “Do you know that diaper rash can—”

  “Stop.” Trista held up her hand. “We do not need to talk about diaper rash in these meetings. Especially when—” She stopped and went a little pink. “Well, never mind. Lucinda, I see you brought some sort of a pie?”

  Lucinda nodded. “It’s a strawberry pie. I found out last summer that I really like it, so I had my gardener”—she exchanged a look with Aja—“plant some strawberries in my garden, and that’s what I used.”

  Margo’s heart swelled. She would never forget that day she and Aja had made the pie. It was the first time she’d really felt comfortable with a friend in as long as she could remember. Even though she hadn’t known Aja very well at the time, she was still easier to talk with than the wives of Calvin’s colleagues she usually met through his work functions. For a long time, those, along with her ex–book club’s bimonthly meetings, were the only occasions in which she went out.

  “And that was when we started to become friends,” Aja said. Then corrected, “Or, maybe, right before we started to become friends.”

  “Oh, I knew you were a dear right away,” Lucinda said. “I had just seen Michael with a different kind of woman prior to that. Business focused, very little fun. You were a shock.”

  “She was a shock to all of us,” Trista said, and gave Aja a wink. “Then she went and had a baby for us so we don’t have to listen to our clanging biological clocks. We can all just focus on Beau!”

  “To be honest,” Lucinda said soberly, “I’m enjoying the fact that Beau has brought out some of the son I remember in Michael. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him smile the way he does when he watches Michelle and Beau together.” She looked down, thoughtful. It was impossible to say what crossed her mind, but then she shook out of it and said, “As I believe he said to you when he came in to meet Beau, you are an unexpected but constant blessing.”

  Aja’s face went pink.

  “Did he say that?” Margo asked. “I wanted to get all the deets, but of course I didn’t want to be rude . . .”

  “You can ask me anything!” Aja looked surprised. “I thought you all were there at the same time but my brain wasn’t exactly functioning fully. But he did say that, he did.” This time it was Aja who looked thoughtful. “Maybe there is fate. It’s just not always what you expect it to be.”

  But sometimes, Margo thought, it’s exactly what you need. She’d finally gotten used to the two faces of Max Roginski and was able to meld them into one person. Not that she’d ever say that to him—it would be highly disconcerting for him to know she’d ever been daunted by his fame. And now that they shared a bathroom and a shower and a bed and everything else at the farm, she was very used to him as a real human being, day in and day out.

  “What about you, Margo?” Trista asked. “What did you bring?”

  That snapped her back out of her reverie. “Well, it was kind of tough, since we’re going solo without a book this month. With the whole world to think of, I couldn’t think of a thing. But then I remembered this chicken salad I had at a bridal shower once and I looked online and found either it or something bet
ter. It was kind of an odd recipe, with mayo and sour cream and almonds and pineapple, and tarragon and curry.”

  “I couldn’t stop eating them when I put them on the table,” Aja said. “The croissants are perfect with it, I think, because they are so tender they don’t overwhelm it.”

  “Cheater,” Margo said. “That watercress soup you brought looks pretty damn good too, but I wouldn’t know for sure, since I haven’t tried it.” She had, though. In fact, she’d dipped her (clean) finger right in.

  It was delicious.

  “Put it on your channel, then, movie star,” Aja said, with a smile. “Then I’ll be famous and do a cookbook too!”

  Margo’s face flushed. She didn’t think she’d ever get comfortable with this YouTube fame. Thanks to Max, she had more than two million subscribers now. She liked to think her content was good—in fact, she knew it was—but she also knew that tons of people out there had good contact and it was Max’s occasional appearances that brought her numbers up.

  He’d just finished filming a special for one of the streaming services about his farmhouse renovation sabbatical, which was sure to call attention to the beautiful kitchen where Margo had taken to filming her content.

  A literary agent who had started watching her early on, thanks to his mother’s insistence that he check out her friend’s daughter’s videos, had taken a chance on her and helped her put together a cookbook proposal. The book was due to come out next summer, so she was pretty psyched for tonight’s offerings while she still had time to do edits.

  They already wanted to add Max’s SpaghettiOs alla Vodka, which she’d made the mistake of joking to her editor about. Though it had to be said, a little allspice, a little cream, a dash of vodka. That really raised the profile of SpaghettiOs.

  “Okay, Trista,” Aja said, her eyes gleaming. She knew something, Margo was just sure of it. “And what did youuuuuu bring?”

  Trista laughed. “Why, Aja. Funny you should ask.” She rolled her eyes playfully, then cleared her throat. “Another burned-out lawyer—”

  “Brice,” Aja said.

  “Yes, Brice suggested that maybe his oddball but bighearted stepbrother—”

  “Louis,” Margo supplied.

  Everyone laughed.

  “Yes, Louis could run a food truck as a satellite to the restaurant. Taking our best quickie-foods out, and bringing customers in once they’ve tried what we have to offer.”

  “I can’t keep quiet, I saw the Babe’s Blue Ox truck on Constitution Avenue the other day,” Aja said. “I’m a thousand percent positive he got a parking ticket but I’m also sure the line that wound around practically to the Washington Monument more than paid it.”

  “True, and true,” Trista said. “Louis, I think we all know, is an ace researcher. Ever since he was a kid, he’s been wanting some lobster roll he got in Boston at some rando place for lunch. Don’t get excited about the punch line,” she interrupted herself. “No one has any idea what the place was called, but Louis googled everything from the big bang to cold water lobster versus warm water, and, I gotta admit, he came up with an amazing Lobster Roll. So let’s go load up our plates, huh?”

  They all went to the food on the bar, oohing and aahing over everything. Monday nights at Babe’s Blue Ox were closed for most, but for this group they were the best night of the week.

  It turned out to be Lucinda who summed it up the best.

  “All my life I have heard the quotes of wise men saying we all become friends when breaking bread together, but until I met this little chicken”—she gave Aja an affectionate pat on the shoulder—“and the rest of you, I didn’t fully know what it meant. Now I do.” She held up her glass of wine. “Cheers to you all.”

  Acknowledgments

  Adam Smiarowski, you have kept me going through some really tough times over the past couple of years—there are not words enough to thank you for your unflagging love, kindness, and support.

  Thanks to my dear friends and associates who pre-read and proofread and helped me get my ducks in a row, book after book: Paige Harbison, Jack Harbison, Lucinda Denton, Tris Zeigler, and Denise Whitaker.

  Thanks to Steve Troha for sage advice, good drinks, and great fun.

  Asanté Simons, thank you for all of your help and backup in getting things together for this book, and for the gentle reminders when I run up against a deadline.

  Thanks to my cousin Craig Atkins, as well as Jamie, Wyatt, and Parker, for providing some seriously inspiring and delicious vacation days in both Cabo and Newport while I was working on this book.

  A million thanks to everyone at Jane Rotrosen Agency for keeping my professional life moving so smoothly and always having the answers. Particular thanks to Donald Cleary for patience in responding to my requests for my 1099s, and other forms, over and over. I swear I try to keep organized, but in a pinch I can never find anything!

  Finally, and as always, all the gratitude in the world to my mother, Connie Atkins McShulskis, whose memory fades daily but whose nurturing of the imaginations of three daughters brought three voracious readers and writers into the world.

  P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

  About the Author

  * * *

  Meet Beth Harbison

  A Chat with Beth Harbison

  About the Book

  * * *

  Reading Group Guide

  Recipes

  Snacks

  Stuffed Mushrooms

  Tomato Pesto Dip

  Ravioli Chips

  Curried Deviled Eggs

  Creamy Margarita Pops

  Pesto Torta

  Chicken Pot Pie Fritters

  Corn Fritters

  Carolyn Clemens’s Spinach Artichoke Dip

  Black Pepper Gruyère Cheese Puffs

  Periyali’s Almond Skordalia (Potato, Almond, and Garlic) Dip

  Layered Fiesta Dip

  The Very Best Sweet Hot Sauce

  Drinks

  Autumn: Apple Oat Vodka Creams

  Winter: Italian Chocolate

  Spring: Flower Girl

  Summer: The Babe

  About the Author

  Meet Beth Harbison

  New York Times bestselling author BETH HARBISON started cooking when she was eight years old, thanks to Betty Crocker’s Cook Book for Boys and Girls. After graduating college, she worked full-time as a private chef in the DC area, and within three years she sold her first cookbook, The Bread Machine Baker, to Random House. She published four cookbooks in total before moving on to writing bestselling women’s fiction, including the runaway bestseller Shoe Addicts Anonymous and When in Doubt, Add Butter.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  A Chat with Beth Harbison

  Q: How did you come to write The Cookbook Club?

  A: I was actually working on something different, something quite a bit heavier, and during a brainstorming session, one of my agents mentioned her daughter’s cookbook book club. Food comes up a lot with me, so the anatomy of that conversation wasn’t that weird, but when she said it, a light went off. For one thing, what a brilliant idea—a cookbook book club! This is a dream come true for me. It’s everything I love in one place. So immediately I started constructing my ideal group in my head and . . . the idea took off from there.

  Q: You collect cookbooks. What are a few of the most interesting cookbooks you own?

  A: My absolute favorite is Eat, Drink, and Be Chinaberry. Chinaberry was a catalog of primarily children’s books, and it was organized by people who clearly truly, truly loved books. I think that’s how they got their following—also a bunch of people who truly loved books. So at some point they decided to do a Junior League–style cookbook and put out a call for recipes, and these book lovers from all over sent in their favorite recipes. The Chinaberry group then tested and tested and voted, and what they ended up with was this odd little mix of unbelievably good recipes, each of which has an interesting story of origin f
rom the person who sent it in. It is my favorite cookbook.

  Some of my daily favorites include both of Chrissy Teigen’s cookbooks, Magnolia Table by Joanna Gaines, and the Delish cookbook, as well as everything Mollie Katzen or America’s Test Kitchen ever produced. To widen my horizons, I put a call out to my own readers for their favorites a couple of years ago, and that’s when I discovered Deep Run Roots, a modern southern cookbook (and a bit of a memoir) by Vivian Howard, with recipes that are earthy, sophisticated, fresh, and delicious; it’s really special. I also like to get old collections, like Junior League, school fund-raisers, and so on.

  I think anytime people send in their best, most-loved, most-requested recipes, you’re going to end up with a winner of a collection. One of my favorites of those was put out by Ginger Silvers, the food columnist for the Washington Star back in the 1970s. She lived in the neighborhood, and my friends and I were so “starstruck” when we saw a recipe contributed by a name we knew. Occasionally, I find an old classic Betty Crocker or Better Homes and Gardens sort of cookbook at a yard sale that has the previous owner’s notes and even recipes torn from magazines. That is a treasure trove to me.

  Q: What is the most complicated thing you have ever made? What is your biggest cooking disaster?

  A: The most complicated thing that comes to mind was a burger, believe it or not. It involved caramelizing onions in Guinness stout and making a Jameson whiskey sauce. There’s blue cheese involved too. It’s unbelievably good—I’ll try and find it and post it to my website.

  Biggest cooking disaster—well, I remember making muffins as a child and thinking “root beer muffins” sounded like a great creation. So I poured pure root beer extract over the muffins when they came out of the oven. I learned a valuable lesson about extract that day. Yet I have not yet figured out what root beer extract could possibly be good for.