Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Atta girl.” Soledad snaps as if I just dropped bars of spoken word. “Can’t wait to meet him IRL.”
“The girlies got you talking their talk.”
“What can I say?” Soledad runs her curly ponytail through her fist and smirks. “They keeps me young.”
“I saw that trend you did with Deja and Lupe. How long did it take you to record that dance?”
“Hours to learn and record, but it was worth it.”
“Lots of views?”
“Lots of time with the girls. They graduate soon, Hen.” Soledad looks a little misty in the eyes. “The momancholy is gonna be so bad. Oh, speaking of the pending emotional destruction of graduation, the girls are doing a short summer program at A&T when we get back from the cruise. We won’t be too far from you and were thinking about coming to visit when we pick the girls up.”
“Oh gosh, Sol, that would be amazing.” The offer makes me realize how much I need my friends. Things have been good here so far, but there is always this tension like anything could go really wrong at any minute, a constant low-level anxiety that becomes exhausting.
“And Yasmen wants to pop by the Grits in Charlotte.”
We both widen our eyes meaningfully because the woman who dated Josiah briefly while they were divorced is also head chef at their Charlotte location.
“Gurhhhhlll, hide the knives,” I say.
“It’ll be fine,” Soledad chuckles. “We’re all adults, and Vashti is now engaged and has a baby on the way. She ain’t thinking ’bout Josiah like that.”
Seeing how things turned out with that messy situation gives me a little hope that Maverick, Zere, and I will get our awkwardness sorted and one day live in perfect harmony. Zere in a relationship and pregnant would be the best we could hope for. It’s exactly what she wants. She just wanted it with the wrong man.
My man.
“Anyway, so we’ll definitely be in Charlotte for a bit and will come see you. Can’t wait to meet your mom and Aunt G.”
“They’ll love that, but don’t you come without the girls. I want to see them.”
“You want to spoil them.”
“I may have done a little shopping,” I admit with a grin. My phone alerts me to the next meeting starting soon. “Sol, I gotta bounce, but I’ll follow up with them about next steps and hope to see you guys soon!”
The internet holds on through back-to-back video calls, and I have a catch-up with Skipper to make sure all is well in Atlanta. The day zips. Mama’s pretty quiet in her bedroom, and besides a mixture of General Hospital and Fred Hammond’s greatest hits, I don’t hear much from Aunt Geneva either. By the time evening rolls around, I’m done and starving.
The doorbell rings every night around this time, though, so my stomach is now set to this schedule. I open the door to yet another lady from Mama and Aunt G’s church bearing an aluminum foil–covered casserole dish. This meal train thing their church does is on point.
“Just pop it in at three fifty for about twenty minutes,” says Mrs. Redmond, tonight’s church lady, handing over the dish. “I gotta get to choir practice, but tell Geneva I’ll be by soon to visit.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
In the kitchen, I preheat the oven and lift the foil away, giving the contents an investigative sniff. Something with cream of chicken and broccoli. Another scene from the past paints itself onto my mind’s eye. The backyard overflowing with our neighbors, Daddy grinning through the smoke rising from the grill as he doled out hot dogs and burgers. Mama and Ms. Catherine singing “Free Your Mind” and doing En Vogue’s choreography. The memory echoes in the silent kitchen. I glance through the window over the sink, superimposing those vibrant days onto the unkempt garden and rusted-out grill tucked into a shed beside Daddy’s old John Deere riding lawn mower.
I relented, let Mama stay here because it’s what she wanted, but more and more I wonder if it was the right decision. This house is haunted, and Mama needs more than ghosts for company.
“Hmmmm, that smells good,” I say, opening the oven and watching the cheese sprinkled on top bubbling. “Mama, dinner’s almost ready.”
No answer.
I set the casserole on the stove top and walk upstairs to knock on her door.
“Mama, Mrs. Redmond dropped off dinner. It’s almost done. You coming to eat?”
Silence.
“Mama?” My voice comes out less certain, and I turn the knob slowly like it might delay me finding something sad on the other side.
Mama’s sitting on the bed, one hand pressed to her chest and releasing staccato breaths. Her panicked eyes meet mine.
“I’m sorry,” she manages between choppy inhalations. “I made a mess, but I’ll clean it up.”
“Mess?” I frown. “What are you…”
By her bed, her slippers are covered in vomit. Some of it is splattered on her bare feet.