Free Back in Black by Zoey Dean

“There's room between Felicity and Francesca. Would you like to join us?”
    Felicity and Francesca—one blond, the other red-haired, both wearing identical yoga uniforms—motioned with big smiles and waves for Sam to slide in. “I don't think so,” Sam demurred. “I don't really love the smell of yoga in the morning.”
    Dee shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, there's lots of room.”
    There was an open mat to Francesca's left, and Dee went to it. As Sam stared in disbelief, she assumed the lotus position, closed her eyes, and, after explaining to the yoga moms that the tune they were about to hear was a famous Hasidic melody, began to hum. The tune's lack of lyrics was deliberate—the notes were designed to bring those chanting it closer to the Eyn Sof, the highest degree of God in kabbalistic terms.
    As the lithe
InStyle
photographer sprang into action, the meditation circle picked up the chant, which continued for a few minutes, waxing and waning in intensity. In a certain way, Sam found it soothing and beautiful. In every other way, she found it absolutely bizarre. That her friend Dee should be leading it—the only one in the circle who didn't have a child—was most bizarre of all. Yet the mothers seemed to have no objection. On the contrary, they were getting into it.
    Then Dee spoke, her eyes still closed. “I am eternal bliss, I am eternal happiness.”
    “I am eternal bliss, I am eternal happiness,” the women echoed, their eyes closed as well.
    “I am at one with my baby. We are at peace together,” Dee chanted.
    “I am at one with my baby. We are at peace together,” the women responded.
    Sam rolled her eyes at this picture of Dee leading a meditation circle. Dee honestly probably couldn't even
spell
meditation. Then she mentally relented. Her friendship with Dee had never been based on the intellectual. She had other friends, like Anna, for that. Instead—at least before she'd become the poster girl for Jewish mysticism—Dee was sincere. Sweet. Loyal. She'd stood by Sam through thick and … well, thicker (Sam had never come within striking distance of
thin
).
    Sam saw one of Poppy's eyes pop open.
    “Sam!” her stepmother wheedled. “Come join us!” Then she quickly scanned the room for the lead photographer, making sure that her right profile, which was her best side, faced him.
    “I'll pass,” Sam grumbled as she checked her new Patek Philippe watch, uncertain how long the meditation circle was planning to continue. “Dee, are you packed? We're leaving for Vegas really soon.”
    She knew she was exaggerating for effect, but she also knew that Dee was one of the world's great procrastinators. That she had gotten her friend to change her mind about the Vegas trip had been a minor miracle in and of itself.
    Dee fixed her cornflower blue eyes on her dear friend. “I don't need clothes. What I'm wearing is fine.”
    “For four days?”
    “I'll wash my things out and hang them over the tub,” Dee replied, a serene expression on her face. “When there is inner peace, the outer trappings are so unimportant.” She turned and smiled at the camera.
    Gawd. Dee was actually playing to the camera. How nauseating. “Dee, this is Vegas we're talking about.” Sam tried to keep her voice even. “It's
all
about the outer trappings.”
    “For you, maybe.” Dee held her palms up to Sam. “Wherever you go, Sam, there you are.”
    “What does that even
mean
, Dee?” Sam demanded.
    “Do you mind, Sam? You're upsetting the
chi
in here,” one of the new mothers with a punk platinum blond hairdo blurted out. She seemed to want to raise her eyebrows with indignation, but since her face had been Botoxed into submission, it was difficult to tell.
    “Well,
chi
wiz,” Sam quipped.
    “Don't worry about it, Sam—this is great stuff!” the
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producer chortled. “I love that natural family vibe! Do you mind if we get a few shots of you?”
    “Yep, I sure do mind.” Sam