Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“Um, and the guy your cousin introduced you to from church?” I suppress a grin, already anticipating an excuse for why this one also failed to meet Hendrix’s exacting standards.
“I had bigger dick energy than that man, which means we were basically unequally yoked. How can I be my ancestors’ wildest dreams settling for some mid dick? I can’t let them down like that.”
“It’s the dickmatization of it all,” Lola laughingly agrees. “If I want it like that and there’s no man around worth my time, I can always grab a strap-on.”
“Please keep your voices down,” I hiss, throwing a cautious look back toward the kitchen. “I don’t want to spend Christmas morning explaining strap-ons to my eleven-year-old.”
“I’m just saying,” Hendrix whisper-laughs. “I told Santa all I want for Christmas is an orgasm that rolls my eyes back past my lace front. Something I need three to five business days to recover from.”
“Oh, my God,” Lola gasps. “I see why Sol loves you so much.”
I shake my head at them both and try one more time. “What about that manager you met on set with your housewives, Hen? He seemed to have some potential.”
“My first foray into the palm-colored of the male species.” Hendrix crosses her long legs. “He was attractive, but he said ‘malarkey’ and ‘rigamarole’ unironically. My Blackness won’t let me, at least not with him. If I’m dating a white dude, he better be invited to the cookout. A man with that Christopher Jamal Evans energy.”
“While we’re on the subject of white men we never shoulda let in our drawers,” Lola says caustically, “how’s Edward doing in that low-security resort of a prison?”
That sucks all the fun out of the conversation for me.
“I have no idea, and that suits me just fine,” I reply, not even trying to strip the bitterness from my voice. “He’s pissed at me, of course, and has only talked to the girls a few times. He doesn’t want them to visit him in prison, which… good call.”
I flop back against the cushions, fixing my stare on the coffered ceiling.
“I talk it through with my therapist, and the girls have talked with a family counselor about it. Overall, they’ve adjusted remarkably well, maybe because Edward was around so much less the last couple years.”
“You still think Inez seems to be taking it the hardest?” Hendrix asks, brows pinched.
I sigh and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Edward could never do any wrong in her eyes, and even with all the undeniable evidence that he did indeed do wrong, she’s still on his side.”
“I know this is a lot to navigate,” Lola says, “but I’m glad it all came out. Glad you got rid of him and have taken your power back.”
“Not only was Edward not invited to the cookout,” Hendrix interjects, “he was the raisins in the potato salad. Like, who let you in? Good riddance and good for nothing.”
“I never liked him.” Lola offers her best big-sister sneer. “Uppity. And that mama of his, never trusted her.”
“We agree on that point,” I say dryly. “Can you believe he thought I would pack up the girls and move to Boston to live with my mother-in-law who doesn’t even like me?”
“I’m still not over that Boston Celtics jersey he loved so much being his downfall.” Lola chef-kisses.
“No, his downfall,” Hendrix says, “besides your fearless sister, was that fine-ass accountant Judah Cross.”
A Whitney Houston sweat breaks out across my top lip as soon as Judah’s name enters the conversation.
“The accountant who busted Edward is fine?” Lola glances at me accusatorially. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”
“Because it’s irrelevant.” I ball my hands into fists on my lap.
“Girl, the way he looks at your sister is not irrelevant.” Hendrix casts me a knowing sideways glance.
“How does he look at her?” The expression on Lola’s face can only be described as rapt.
“Like a dog with a juicy bone,” Hendrix whispers.
“I should get these pasteles over to Cora,” I say, standing.
“Or a juicy ass.” Hendrix slaps my butt and tugs my waistband, forcing me back to the couch. “Sit down.”
“You’ve barely seen us together,” I tell Hendrix. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw him here at the house,” Hendrix counters. “And even then he looked like he wanted to fix all the shit Edward had caused and then take you to the nearest bed for some nerdy back cracking.”
“Once. You saw us together once,” I concede. “And he did not look at me like—”
“And chile, you shoulda seen his face at the Harvest Festival where Soledad was cooking,” Hendrix barrels on.
“That Soledad experience thing?” Lola asks. “What happened?”
“When I was calling her name selling tickets,” Hendrix says, “you woulda thought I used a dog whistle the way that man’s head whipped around. Nearly detached his retina.”