It had been eons since the women spent their entire Saturday together—shopping, visiting a spa or hanging out at the Cheesecake Factory for hunks of the cream cheese-flavored goodness. They’d spent many a Saturday at the bookstore, thumbing through the pages of whichever popular novel had come out that week, or placing a fillet of salmon on the barbecue grill in Sasha’s backyard while sipping on mojitos. Once upon a time, Saturdays with the girls had been a standing event on Sasha’s calendar. She didn’t compromise when it came to that day. Whatever came up had to be rescheduled. By the time Bridget showed up for breakfast, Sasha and their cousin Vanessa had already snagged a booth in the crowded restaurant and flipped through the menu. Their server, Freda, had greeted them with a bright smile and her spiel regarding the specials of the day. Freda was an older woman with her hair slicked back into a ponytail. Her smock looked as if she’d been fighting in someone’s kitchen, with all sorts of stains on the front of it.
