Chapter One

      The Girlfriends’ Sixteenth Anniversary

      Emily Proctor poured each of her girlfriends another frozen daiquiri. Midori daiquiris, to be precise. And, if one was getting picky about such things, they weren’t really just girlfriends, they were The Girlfriends. Sworn to be there for each other through thick and thin. Together by choice, forged by sixteen years of school and parents and boyfriends and…oh, just everything.

      “I shouldn’t be drinking this,” Lily said, but only after she’d taken a really big swallow. “I have to take JT to soccer at eight in the morning.” She shuddered dramatically, making her impromptu ponytail wave back and forth. “The sitter can’t. She’s going to Dallas first thing tomorrow.”

      “Why don’t you call Glen Cassidy…? He has to take Cody, so maybe he’ll pick up JT, too.”

      Lily turned to Hope Francis. The polar opposite of Lily, Hope was five foot one to Lily’s five foot seven, and Hope had dark hair, almost black. It was trimmed in a dramatic sort of pageboy. Really angular, though. On her, it worked. She looked exotic, especially with her Winona Ryder eyes, made smoky by the liberal use of black kohl and powder. Not to mention the fire-engine red lipstick, which was mostly on the rim of her glass. The problem with Hope, at least in her own eyes, was that she looked about seventeen, and it drove her insane.

      Lily smiled broadly as she uncurled her legs and got up off the couch to follow up on that excellent advice. “That’s why we keep you here, Hope. Because you’re beautiful and brilliant.”

      Hope smiled demurely. Then she burped. Loudly.

      Everyone cracked up as Emily crawled back on the hotel room bed and scrunched the pillow beneath her. It was so good to be together like this. All of them. Hope, Lily, Sam, Zoey and Julia. The Girlfriends.

      They’d met in Mrs. Mann’s fifth-grade class, at Sheridan elementary school. They’d bonded over their outrage at Paul Morrison’s obnoxious game of pulling up their dresses on the playground.

      Emily wondered for a moment what had happened to Paul. But that wasn’t important. What was important was that the six of them had come together like pieces of a puzzle. They’d all fit.

      As she sipped her drink, Zoey turned the topic to her hair, as she did every year, complaining that it was too red, too curly, too hideous to be shown in public. It was utter nonsense, and the rest of the girls told her so. Every year.

      “It’s wonderful hair,” Samantha said. “Very Nicole Kidman.”

      Zoey sighed. “Yeah. Wouldn’t it be nice if I also had her body? And her face?”

      Julia smiled wryly. “It would be even nicer if you had her husband.”

      Zoey, who was sprawled in the chair across from the couch, turned to Julia. “Oh, really? You like him?”

      “What’s not to like? That smile. Those eyes. That tight little behind…”

      “He’s too short,” Lily said, coming back from her phone call to plop down on the couch again. “I like them tall. Tall and strong and kinda wiry.”

      “No kidding?” Julia said, but Emily and everyone else in the room knew she was being sarcastic. Lily had always been specific about the man she was going to marry. Although she never admitted it, her perfect man was one Jesse Hyatt, who had been in high school with them. He’d never given Lily the time of day, unfortunately, but she still considered him the epitome of masculine perfection.

      “I,” Lily said, sniffing her displeasure, “have certain standards, which some of you are sadly lacking.”

      A great hue and cry came from the floor, the couch, the chair, the bed. Emily laughed. “Oh, please! This from a woman who got knocked up at age sixteen?”

      “JT is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Lily said, and from her tone, Emily realized she needed to back off. Most of the time Lily joked with the rest of them about her unorthodox family, but sometimes, like when she’d had a little too much to drink, she could get pretty defensive.

      “Sorry, kiddo.” Emily stood up so she could get some cookies. They’d each brought food for the weekend, and as far as Emily could tell, there wasn’t one nutrient in the bunch. They’d concentrated on the three basic food groups: chocolate, chips and cream filling.

      Julia snorted in a most unfeminine manner. “Maybe we’d believe you had this non Jesse Hyatt ideal if you’d actually go out on a date. I’ve got news for you. You can’t get your virginity back, no matter how long you hold out.”

      “I’m not holding out,” Lily said. “I just haven’t met the right man yet.”

      “At least you’re not alone,” Hope said with a sigh. “You’d think one of us would have found Mr. Right by now, wouldn’t you?”

      Zoey nodded. “Or at the very least, Mr. Okay.”

      Sam shook her head. “I know you’re kidding, Zoey. You must be. Finding a life partner is the most important decision in a woman’s life. It’s not to be taken lightly.”

      Hope grinned at Emily. “Too bad Sam’s ideal man is too old for her. And he’s married.”

      “Who might that be?” Sam asked, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

      “Bob Villa, of course. Between the two of you, there wouldn’t be a single store-bought item in your house. You’d knit the couches, he’d build the stove. You’re perfect for each other.”

      Sam sighed. “Just because I’m handy—”

      “Handy? You out-Martha Stewart Martha Stewart.”

      “Look who’s talking, Ms. Everything-Has-To-Match Hope.”

      “Hey!” Emily put her hands on her hips, but instead of giving her friends the stern talking-to they deserved, she noticed that of all the women in the room, hers were the only hips that were large, economy-size. It was depressing.

      Hope, Lily and Samantha were the perfect width for their height. Julia was too skinny, despite the fact that she ate like a little oinker, darn it. And Zoey was just plain voluptuous, even though she thought she was fat. She wasn’t. But Emily was.

      Not life-threateningly fat, but she could lose a good twenty or twenty-five pounds. She should lose—

      “Emily?” Hope said, interrupting her thoughts.

      “Yes?”

      “Weren’t you supposed to be yelling at us?”

      “Oh, yeah. Stop it.”

      The girls cracked up again, and things were the way they should be once more, only Emily had to force her smile. Couldn’t she go one blessed weekend without obsessing about her weight?

      Of course not. Especially after the news she’d heard just this morning. She might as well tell them now. But first, she needed one more cookie before she sat down.

      As Emily reached for the bag Lily poured herself another daiquiri.