Cookie Cutter by Jo Richardson Read Free Book Online

is it about me that--”
    “Here we are! Places everyone!” Beatrice interrupts with her friendly demand. Iris takes the opportunity to act as though she didn’t hear me.
    Beatrice has got a pitcher of Sangria in one hand and a stack of red plastic cups in the other. Cynthia claps her hands together, grabs a deck of cards and sits. “You can sit next to me, Carter. There’s an extra chair in the kitchen you can use.”
    I obey. I’m not stupid. Iris, however, eyes the front door like a cornered cat as though she’s trying to find a way to leave.
    “Relax, Iris, it’s just a man.” Patricia nips that thought in the bud.
    And now she resembles more a cat that’s about to pounce. Finally, the woman takes her seat as Cynthia deals the first hand. Beatrice gives out cups then fills them with Sangria. I take a swig to wash down the cookie because – why not? Iris doesn’t take any and when I finish my drink, I tip the cup toward her.
    “Why aren’t you drinking, Iris?”
    She checks her cards and rearranges them. “I prefer not to.” She doesn’t bother to look at me. It’s such a simplistic answer, really, and even though there’s no reason for me to question her, I’m not buying it.
    “That’s it?”
    “Isn’t that enough?”
    I shrug a shoulder. She’s hiding something. “You in rehab?” It would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.
    But she snorts. “No.”
    I search the table for knowing eyes but everyone seems extremely engrossed in their cards all of a sudden.
    “You one of those . . . Moms Against Drinking?”
    Now, she looks up at me from behind her playing cards. She’s dead pan, I can’t tell if she wants to laugh or cry.  Turns out, it’s neither. “It’s Mothers Against Drunk Driving and although yes, I am one of those moms, no, I don’t have anything personally against drinking, I just . . . prefer not to . . . right now.”
    She goes back to studying the hand she’s been dealt. The room grows quiet. Cynthia clears her throat.
    “Another cookie, Carter?” she offers in a small, high pitched voice.
    I smile for her because it’s not her fault she happens to be card playing buddies with little Miss Cold Shoulder.
    “I think I’ve had enough tonight. Thanks though.”
    “Wouldn’t want a gut or anything.” Iris mumbles.
    “Actually, no, I wouldn’t.”
    She snorts at me again. And this time, I snort back. She rolls her eyes.
    “What is your problem anyway?”
    Before she can answer for herself, Beatrice chimes in. “Oh she’s had a stick up her ass ever since James left.”
    And then Iris loses her shit. “Beatrice!” She slams her cards down onto the table as Beatrice moves into innocent bystander mode.
    “What?”
    “You just . . . why would you . . . how could you . . .?”
    Iris’s eyes are blinking at a rate faster than I can count now, and her hands are flailing and it’s just like that first day I met her.  I don’t even know I’m laughing until her very heated attention moves from the elderly woman to me.
    “What . . . are you laughing at?”
    “I’m sorry,” I chuckle. “Really. I just, you have this sparkle in your eyes when you get all pissed off like this.”
    She lets out a breathless, “What?” as the blinking stops and a scowl spreads across her forehead. It’s not an angry scowl though. Not really. It’s more like a confused scowl. Like she can’t figure out if I’m poking fun or paying a compliment.
    “You know,” I wave my hand in a circle like motion toward her. “Sparkle.”
    I watch it fade, the sparkle that is, as we sit there in some sort of stare down with each other. Cynthia fills my red cup back up with sangria as everyone watches the two of us and I gladly drink it but cannot take my eyes off of Iris. She wants to kill me, I can see it in her expression but it’s also like she’s looking past me, even though I know nobody is there. Instinct tells me to let it go. Iris’s expression of utter loss of