A round table by the window that can fit about six people comfortably. Smiling moms with their books in hand. One after another enter the door. Another chair added to the table, another chair and yet another chair added. No more chairs can fit in the corner of the small Greek restaurant. A stare down of the family in the middle of restaurant begins. Finally, the pressure induced by the book-toting mamas is just too much; they leave and the ladies pounce on their table and three nearby tables. The Book Club Mamas own the center of the room.
As the chatter continues, one of the newest book club attendees arrives. “Are you here to impart your literary wisdom,” the moderator chides her dear friend of more than ten years. “I read six pages, but the cover of my book looks different,” she says with her usual self-confidence. She is greeted with smiles and laughter and settles in with the group.
While glasses of wine and bottles of beer were being passed around the table, the banter envelops the room with conversations ebbing and flowing until one phrase rises up above the noise. “Oh crap, I read six pages of the wrong book. You read The Memory Keeper’s Daughter. I read My Sister’s Keeper.” Similar titles and both books exploit illness to tug at reader’s heartstrings. Really pretty similar books, so close enough. Laughter ignites and the regular conversations about kids, husbands and the perils of stay-at-home motherhood resume.
This is the beauty of book club, reading the book is not required for participation. All are welcome and encouraged to abandon their children for the evening.
