The house.
Not home. Not the dream home we worked for and fantasized about for years. Now it’s just the house where the kids and I live. Josiah’s in the same neighborhood, but two streets over. I’m not sure why my thoughts keep revisiting the past tonight when my reflection, my mindset,everythinghas “future” written all over it.
“Shake it off,” I tell myself, climbing into the car and pulling out of the Grits parking lot. “It’s time to party.”
Chapter Two
Yasmen
It’s Soledad’s birthday,” Hendrix mutters into her Moscow Mule. “You think she’d be eager for some grown-girl time, and yet she’s late.”
“She’s on her way.” I reread the text Soledad sent. “As of twenty minutes ago. She said Lupe’s cheering practice went over, Inez is working on a science project, and Lottie had dance lessons.”
I study Hendrix over the rim of my drink. She has a face as bold as her name, punctuated by sloping cheekbones and an audacious nose, nostrils flared to scent adventure and bullshit. Her dark, arched brows are as quick to pull into a frown as the wide bow of her mouth is to stretch into a smile. She gets shit done and is as driven to help people as she is to succeed. Helping people is, at least in part, how she defines success.
“How are your housewives?” I ask, sipping my French 75, the gin and the twang sloughing the edge off my frayed nerves.
“Girl, a whole-ass handful. The producer had the nerve to call and ask me to keep my clients in check. Bitch,youcheck ’em. My job was to get them there. Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other before the season ends.”
“Seems like the more drama, the better the ratings, so what’s her problem?”
“Yeah, there’s drama and then there’s…” Hendrix lifts her brows meaningfully. “Theirshit. Fistfights, weaves yanked out, tires slashed.”
“Sounds like high school.”
“Or day care, and my degree is in PR, not babysitting. Though, for real, that feels like my job half the time.”
She aims a smile over my shoulder. “Speaking of babies, here comes Mommy-in-Chief now.”
I glance around and spot Soledad climbing the stairs to Sky-Hi’s rooftop. She wears her usual slightly harried expression, but tonight it’s paired with a butt-hugging red dress that screamsWork it, girl;it’s your birthday. Her dark eyes search the crowd until she finds us. A blinding smile lights up her pretty face. She’s short and curvy, and springy sable curls bounce around her shoulders, reflecting the energy packed into her petite frame. She waves and crosses quickly over to our table.
“Sorry I’m late.” She collapses into the empty seat, snatches the drink from my hand, and takes a long sip.
“For your own birthday celebration.” Hendrix tsks. “Just glad you made it at all. Did you have to tie Edward to the refrigerator for him to stay home with the girls?”
Soledad’s husband is notoriously absent from pretty much everything lately. Pink filters into the gold-brown of her cheeks. “He, um, had to work late unexpectedly and—”
“So who’s with the kids?” I cut in.
“I called Mrs. Lassiter’s daughter.” Soledad fixes her gaze on the menu, avoiding the exasperation I’m sure is apparent in Hendrix’s eyes and mine. “She’s that ninth grader who lives around the corner. Lottie and Inez love her. Lupe’s old enough to stay home and they’d be fine, but her cheering practice went late, so…” She shrugs philosophically.
“One night,” Hendrix mutters. “He couldn’t give you one night?”
I shoot Hendrix a quelling glance, silently urging her to lay off, but she’s more likely to biteyourtongue than she is to bite hers.
“Guys, come on.” Soledad drops the menu and all pretense that it actually interests her. “Can’t we just have a good time and not focus on Edward? He’s in the middle of a huge project at the firm. It’s a lot and he’s doing the best he can.”
I bet even she doesn’t believe that, but I won’t argue the point and spoil her birthday any more than her inconsiderate sperm donor already has.
“You’re right!” I slam my empty glass on the table and signal for the server. “Let’s get lit like we’re not class mom in the morning!”
“One of usisn’tclass mom,” Hendrix reminds, her laugh throaty and grateful. “And my apartment is literally around the corner. I’m walking, so I’ll drink for us all.”
Soledad and Iaredriving, albeit only around the corner, so we can’t drink much, but getting litsoundsamazing. Our little trio is composed of disparate pieces that somehow work together. Hendrix, blissfully single and childless, is completely focused on her career and her ailing mother in Charlotte, splitting her time between the Queen City and Atlanta. Soledad doesn’t work outside the home, but runs her household like a kingdom, leaving everyone awestruck by levels of organization and domesticity seemingly unachievable by mere mortals. She’s a dash of Joanna Gaines, a sprinkle of Marie Kondo, and a big ol’ scoop of Tabitha Brown, a dish served at a farm table on the finest china.
And then there’s me.
Wrapped in all the trappings of a suburban housewife, except I’m no longer anybody’s wife, and I run a thriving business with the man I always assumed I’d love forever.