Scene: a beautiful, old Chicago apartment. The white walls glow softly in the candlelight. There are two women on a worn, navy couch, another in a paisley armchair, and a fourth pouring white wine. A greyhound is lurking, waiting to make a run for the cheese and crackers on the coffee table.
Lucy finished pouring the wine. “Ok, girls, the book this week is ‘The Mermaid’s Daughter’ by Ann Claycomb. Who wants to start?”
Silence. Naomi finally piped up, “I thought this was more of a let’s drink and hang out book club and less of a, let’s actually read the book, book club.”
Joanna rolled her eyes. “I called it. She’s the one who wouldn’t be prepared.” Claire and Lucy chuckled. “Okay, Naomi, here’s the quick and dirty version: The Little Mermaid–the creepy traditional one, not the Disney princess–passed a curse on to her daughter, and her daughter’s daughter, etc., all the way to a modern day soprano studying to be an opera singer. She and her girlfriend and her father have to figure out how to stop it.”
Naomi interrupted. “I only know the Disney version–what curse?”
Claire picked up the thread. “So, she traded her voice for human legs, just like in the Disney movie. But it hurts her to walk — like walking on glass or something — and to get her voice, the sea witches actually cut out her tongue. So her daughter has a tongue, but it hurts like her tongue is missing and her feet still hurt. But the mermaid’s sisters feel bad for her so they trade their hair for a knife that can change the mermaid back if she uses it to kill the prince. So then, for the next however many generations, the mermaid’s descendant is given the knife by the witches and told the pain would stop if they killed their lover.”
“Did the sea witches bother anyone else?” Lucy asked. “Like, I know they’re an unreliable narrator but the more I think about it, the less I trust anything they said. Why in the world would the daughter have to kill her lover and not the prince’s descendant? The prince was super terrible and the reason she asked for legs in the first place, so I get why he needs to die but like, what did Harry do?”
“And how do you distinguish between like, your lifelong lover, and, hey this is college and I like you but who knows what we’ll happen when we graduate?” Joanna asked, pouring herself another drink. “God, there are some ex-boyfriends from college I would stab with the knife regardless of any curse!” She laughed, but Naomi–the only one who went to college with her–frowned. She knew exactly who Joanna was talking about and a knife would be too good for them.
“And how do they all have one daughter and that’s it?” Lucy laughed, smearing brie on her cracker. “Nobody had a son, or multiple kids or no kids? Ever?”
“Okay, critics,” Claire interrupted. “Yes, the book about a mermaid and witches isn’t scientific. But c’mon–it’s beautiful. I couldn’t put it down.” She slipped the dog, now begging at her feet, a piece of cheddar.
“Me either,” Lucy admitted, “But don’t feed Parker cheese, it makes him gassy.” Claire gave him an apology kiss on his furry head. “I was surprised, I think, to read a book that could so easily be a dramatic, romantic tragedy that is still pretty grounded – like, listen to this part:
“I know what I can do to try to tell Robin and Harry that I’m going to be okay, that I’ve gotten over myself. I’ll ask if we can go out to dinner. Someplace ridiculous, with a big list of flavored margaritas and food that’s terrible for you, like breaded zucchini and coconut fried shrimp. There’s nothing tragic about going out to dinner at a restaurant like that, and you can’t give up on life and eat something called a zucchini zircle all in the same night.”
Naomi laughed. “Here’s my contribution,” she said, typing on her phone. “I’m finding a recipe for zucchini zircle and that’s what we’ll eat next time. Now, can we talk about the Bachelor?”