Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Grief is a grind. It is the work of breathing and waking and rising and moving through a world that feels emptier. A gaping hole has been torn into your existence, and everyone around you just walks right past it like it’s not even there.
But all you can do is stand and stare.
In the still-bright evening, I blink tears away and return Deidre’s smile. “Thank you, and I’ll come in this week.”
By the time I reach Hendrix and Soledad, I’ve composed myself, dry eyes and bright smile firmly in place.
At five foot ten sans shoes, and clearing six feet in stacked-heel sandals, Hendrix wears ripped skinny jeans and a cobalt-blue halter top, coupled with oversized hoops and gold hair cuffs woven into her braids.
“You look great,” I say, reaching out to touch the silky material of her blouse.
“Thanks. Lotus Ross has this new plus-size line called Mo’ Better.” Hen chef-kisses. “Perfection.”
“Oooh. I need to check her stuff out,” Soledad says.
“Yeah, she does have clothes for your little narrow ass too.” Hen ducks when Soledad pretends to punch. “Just saying. Mo’ Better is for the mo’ bigger.”
“There may be a lot of things narrow on this body.” Soledad slaps her own butt. “But this ass ain’t one of ’em.”
It takes a few blankets spread on the grass to accommodate Soledad’s entire brood. Three girls in varying shades of their mother, with physical flashes here and there of Soledad’s wretched husband, sprawl on the grass, grabbing and passing around food from Soledad’s picture-perfect picnic basket.
“There’s quiche Lorraine,” Soledad says. “And a salad I tossed before we left the house. You’ll love it. There’s olives and spinach and feta. Tomatoes for a pop of color.”
“This vinaigrette,” Hendrix says and moans, rolling her eyes in bliss and wielding her fork for emphasis. “Omygah. Where’d you get this?”
“Oh, I made it.” Soledad shrugs, but a pleased smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “My own recipe.”
“Oooh, lemme taste.” I sit on the blanket by Hendrix and lean forward, mouth open like a little bird.
“Nawwwww, shugah.” Hendrix gives an emphatic shake of her head and nods toward the basket. “This is that ‘get your own.’ It’s too good to share.”
“I got you,” Soledad says, grinning and passing a plate to me laden with the vibrant salad and a hunk of quiche. “Great job again with this event, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I accept the proffered plate and go for the salad first. “Oh, Sol. This vinaigrette is fantastic. Everything you touch turns delicious. You really need to figure out how to export the Soledad experience.”
“I keep telling her I make stars for a living,” Hendrix says around a mouthful of food. “If she’d let me get ahold of her, we could brand the hell out of her whole life.”
Soledad passes a sandwich and a bottle of LaCroix to Inez. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As a heart attack.” Hendrix taps her plate with her fork. “What do you think I’ve been saying for the last year? Girl, when you ready.”
Soledad’s gaze shifts to her three beautiful daughters, giggling, chatting, tossing down cards in a game of War. She sees them as her greatest privilege, raising them as what she was born to do.
“Maybe later,” Soledad finally replies, slicing into the quiche and passing a plate to Lupe. “I don’t want to lose focus at this stage. Inez is getting serious about ballet and just started middle school. We all know what a hellscape seventh grade is. Lottie is just really digging in with gymnastics, and we’re getting her a new trainer next month, someone who sent a few girls to the Olympics.”
“Not to be ambitious or anything,” Hendrix mumbles loudly enough for only me to hear. I suppress a chuckle and keep my stare trained on Soledad.
“And Lupe starts high school next year,” Soledad continues. “Between cheerleading and maybe even modeling, I just—”
“I have no desire to model, Mom,” Lupe interjects, lips shiny with Soledad’s magic vinaigrette.
“We’ll see.” Soledad leans forward to whisper to us, “You know I’ve never paid much attention to the other offers, but a scout from Wilhelmina reached out. Like, who walks away from Wilhelmina?”
“I do,” Lupe says over Soledad’s hushed comments. She leans forward, pulls the sheath of dark hair away from Soledad’s face and kisses her cheek, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder.
And I get it. The harmony between these three daughters. The quiet confidence each of them wears so effortlessly. The easy, deep affection between Soledad and her girls, it doesn’t just happen. I don’t believe you only see this with women who stay home, but I understand Soledad’s intentions for her family, for her girls, and I respect it.
“Is Deja coming, Mrs. Wade?” Lupe asks.
“Yeah.” I swallow a bite of the quiche. “She and Kassim are coming with their father.”
“I’m sorry again about…” Lupe looks miserable. “My slipup. I would never want to get Deja in trouble.”