Kimba breathes out a laugh, shrugging. “It wasn’t so bad.”
We look at each other, and it feels to me like the width of the table between us pulses. It pulls on my senses so strongly. Kimba lowers her lashes, sips her water and picks up her menu.
“Well I, for one,” Mona says, “need a drink. Where’s our server?”
I nod to Cherise, who is even now approaching, pad in hand and smile in place. “Here she comes, but you do realize it’s only noon.”
“I told you Alicia drained me,” she sighs heavily and turns on a beatific smile for Cherise. “How’s your margarita?”
Cherise snorts. “Strong.”
Mona splits a smirk evenly between Kimba and me. “I’ll have two.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kimba
I’m in head-to-knee pose when my phone starts buzzing.
Not now. I was just starting to get all centered, dammit.
It takes most people time to unplug. Me? You basically have to jerk the plug from the wall and toss it into a furnace before I can relax. It’s the nature of what I do. It’s how I’m made, but the homeopath Dr. Granden recommended suggested I try yoga to alleviate any mild hot flashes, mood swings and insomnia as a result of perimenopause. So each morning, I’m on the mat.
My phone buzzes again.
I thought I was being smart putting it out of reach. The hope was that if I couldn’t reach it, I wouldn’t answer it.
All the possible scenarios crowd out what little peace I was taking for myself. Could it be Congressman Ruiz? Maybe Piers with new information? Are Lennix and the baby okay? Mona?
Ezra?
Not Ezra.
Stop it with the Ezra.
The man is fine AF, yes, but he’s taken. I’m not trying to walk on Aiko’s grass, though to be clear, it is a beautifully maintained lawn. Yes, there is an attraction between us. I’d have to be a tree stump not to feel it, but that’s perfectly natural. In addition to the bond of being best friends years ago, we’re both healthy adults with typical needs.
Do not think about Ezra Stern’s needs.
He needs to look at his wife the way he was looking at me over pulled pork yesterday. Wife…girlfriend…whatever someone is when they have your baby and live with you for ten years.
Her.
Resistance is futile. I hop up and rush across the small guest bedroom Mama converted into an exercise studio. Homegirl has a Peloton up in here. I snatch the phone from the granite counter where I left it and scan the text.
Kayla: What are you doing? It’s hair wash day. Don’t you want to come help your big sister?
Blessed assurance. Jesus is mine.
I shudder. Kayla has four girls and one boy. That’s FOUR heads to wash with hair as thick and unruly as Kayla’s when we were growing up.
Me: Couldn’t I just give you a kidney? That sounds less painful and with a quicker recovery.
Kayla: Get your ass over here and help me. Besides they want to see their auntie. They don’t know you’re mean as a snake. I shield them from that truth. You’re welcome.
Me: Then I won’t tell them how their mother tortured me as a child either.
Kayla: You think I don’t torture them? I would not be Janetta Allen’s daughter if I wasn’t torturing my children. I learned from the best.