A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [13]
The silence that fell over them was filled with wonder, and thick with possibilities. They looked at each other. They looked at the pictures on the computer screen. Cici said, “Oh my God. We’re really considering this.”
“It would mean leaving everything we know,” Lindsay said. “Our jobs, our friends, our homes . . .”
“You hate your jobs,” Bridget said, trying to subdue the rising excitement in her voice, “and working part-time at the library is not exactly the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever done. And do you think our friends won’t be beating a path to our door when they hear about this incredible place? Think of the house parties we can have!”
Cici said, “But consolidating three households, selling furniture, deciding what to take and what to leave . . . it’s mind-boggling.”
They thought about that for a moment, then Bridget declared somberly, “You’re right, it would never work. For one thing, we could never agree on a China pattern. And we’re likely to come to blows over the living room drapes.”
A grin spread over Lindsay’s face, and Cici’s, and Bridget’s. Then Lindsay grabbed the laptop with its scrolling pictures, hugged it to her chest, and cried fervently, “Oh my God, I love this house!”
Cici fell on her, embracing both her and the laptop. “Me, too!”
“I love it more!” exclaimed Bridget as she flung herself into the melee.
They separated after a breathless moment, and sat there with fingers entwined, letting the enormity of the moment sink in.
“Okay,” Cici said at last. “This is serious.”
“Totally.”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s a huge risk.”
“Imagine that!” Lindsay grinned. “Taking a risk at our age!”
“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to have to be committed. We’ve got to promise each other we’ll give it at least a year.”
Bridget said, “It is like starting over. Like getting a bonus life. We can do this, I know we can.”
Cici raised her right hand and insisted, “One year.”
Bridget repeated solemnly, raising her hand, “A year.”
And Lindsay followed suit. “A year.”
They clasped hands in midair, eyes shining, the excitement in the air as thick as honey.
“Okay then,” Cici said. She pulled her legs into a semi-lotus position, took up her legal pad, and picked up her glass of wine. “Let’s make a plan.”
And so they did.
4
Auld Lang Syne
December
The annual Huntington Lane Christmas Party, jointly hosted by Cici, Lindsay, and Bridget in Cici’s home, was an event without parallel. Friends, neighbors, colleagues, and their families shopped all year for the perfect outfits, the just-right shoes, the unprecedented hostess gifts. The ladies themselves held their first organizational meeting in September, and from Labor Day onward the clock was counting down toward what was to be, each and every year, the party that would leave all previous parties in the dust.
A graceful draped rope of tiny blue lights lined both sides of Cici’s driveway from the street to the house. A miniature Christmas tree, decorated in twinkling blue and white lights, adorned the fish pond that was the centerpiece of her front lawn, while overhead, every branch of every deciduous tree was wrapped in tiny white lights and hung with oversize, interior-lit, blue glass ornaments. The front porch was swagged with greenery and studded with white lights and pink poinsettia leaves, and the double entry doors show-cased twin wreaths in which glittery white lights and blue satin ribbon were woven in and out of bouquets of white roses.
The foyer was dominated by a fourteen foot, snow-white Christmas tree done completely in crystal ornaments and blue lights. Every doorway was swagged in fake-snow-frosted greenery that was interwoven with blue satin ribbon and tiny white lights. To the right of the tree was a bar, draped with white satin and decorated with sprays of white roses and a half dozen blue candles, where a bartender made certain every guest was immediately greeted with a cup of creamy Southern Comfort eggnog. Hidden stereo speakers provided traditional Christmas music as a background to the “oohs” and