“You like talking?” Incredulity lifts Mama’s brows. “Go on.”

“She’s so different from me. She’s outgoing and vivacious and the life of the party.” I laugh and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “But she’s also thoughtful and sensitive. Superstitious.”

“Where are her people from?” Mama asks semi-haughtily.

“Her people, as you call them, are from New Orleans, but she went to Spelman and lived in Atlanta before she moved to New York.”

“Excellent school.”

I don’t bother telling her Lotus dropped out to pursue fashion. Despite the huge risks she took, it’s all turned out well, and she landed on her feet. Lotus is a cat with nine lives.

“And does Bridget know you’re interested in someone new?” Mama shoots me a meaningful look. “She knows she lost a good thing.”

“She didn’t lose too much. I’m paying her enough every month.”

“You know that’s not what I mean, and watch that one. I didn’t see her before for what she was, but I have since. She’s got a vindictive streak.”

“Maybe I do, too.”

“No, you don’t. You can make a person feel like they don’t have the common sense of a sheep with one look, but that’s not vindictive. It’s just your personality. Your father was the same way.”

The doorbell rings before I can comment.

“That’ll be Lucius,” I say.

“So the shop’s doing well?”

“Great actually.” I head for the front door. “At least that’s what Lucius tells me. I need to see for myself.”

Lucius stands on the stoop, sporting a big grin and a white kufi cap fitted tightly to his skull.

“Assalamualaikum,” he says, reaching up to hug me.

“Mualaikumsalam,” I reply, pulling back to give him a once-over. “You leaner, bruh.”

“Cutting out that pork.” He grins sheepishly, still looking like that guy I played JV basketball with in high school. That is before I got bumped up to varsity, of course. “And that workout you turned me onto didn’t hurt.”

“Didn’t hurt?” He swore up and down he didn’t need my “fancy” diets and workouts to lose weight. “Okay. I’ll let you have that. Come see my mom before we go to the shop.”

“Your mom still fine?” he asks with a teenage boy’s irrepressible smirk. “You know she always had that Claire Huxtable vibe.”

I roll my eyes and lead him back toward the kitchen.

“Damn shame we can’t even watch The Cosby Show anymore. Lisa Bonet was fine as hell,” he complains. “We lost Cosby and Kanye.”

I laugh, thinking of my conversation with Lotus.

“Yeah, I did see on Twitter that Kanye’s in the sunken place,” I joke.

“Twitter?” he asks, giving me a crunchy face. “You still using Twitter?”

I wish Lotus was here to appreciate this.

13

Lotus

“Happy birthday!”

Billie blows out all twenty-seven candles on the huge chocolate espresso cake. With laughing eyes and her hair even redder than usual from the glow of candles, she looks ironically younger as she celebrates another year.

“I hope you made a wish,” Yari says, aiming her phone at the cake and the birthday girl for a photo.

Billie’s smile slips so quickly, I doubt the camera caught it, but I did. We all cheer, and I’m glad the people who care about her most are here celebrating. Paul wouldn’t be here with us peons.

Makes me sick.

How an otherwise bright, ambitious, honest-to-a-fault woman like Billie can let Paul have her birthday cake and eat it, too, astounds and depresses me. She has ceded everything to him—all the control, all the leverage. She thinks Yari and I don’t understand, that we’re too hard on her, but I’ve seen firsthand and more than once how dangerous it is to trust someone unworthy with your heart. It’s why everything I’ve ever shared with a man was below the belt.

Lately, I haven’t even shared that.

Right on cue, Chase leans over and blows in my ear. Is that shit supposed to be sexy?

I swat at him like he’s an annoying fly.

“Chase, when you gonna give up?” Yari shakes her head and passes around plates with slices of cake.

“I’m not.” He squeezes my thigh under the table. “We’re on a break, but she’ll be back.”

“No, she won’t.” I force a smile and push his hand away. “You are firmly in the former fuck category, and there you shall remain.”

Amanda, who is still in my personal doghouse for feeling Kenan up on the low, leans forward, affording us a glimpse of her plastic surgeon’s handiwork overflowing the dress’s plunging neckline.

“I hope you’re not holding out for our watch model,” she says, her eyes bright with spite and liquor.

“I think you were the one trying to hold him last I checked.” I blink at her, all innocence and don’t test me, bitch. “That didn’t work out exactly as you hoped, though, did it?”

Her smile vaporizes, her mouth falling into a thin, flat line.

“Who are you guys talking about?” Chase asks, a frown hanging between his dirty blond brows.

“No one,” I say as Amanda says, “Kenan Ross.”

Chase sneers and takes a deep gulp of his beer. “You’re both out of luck since I heard he and his wife might be getting back together.”

I know it’s a lie, and I know I shouldn’t care, but my hand freezes midway to my mouth, and my Negroni feels too heavy. I set it down on the table, keeping my movements smooth and my face blank.

“Free to do what he wants to do,” I say and shrug.

“So it wouldn’t bother you if he went back to his wife?” Chase asks.

“Not one little bit,” I lie.

When did it become a lie? When did I lower my guard long enough for Kenan Ross to become a possibility? For him to become an exception to the rules that govern my life and keep my heart intact?

I’m not mentioning my heart in the same sentence as Kenan Ross.

Even as I assure myself of that fact, I remember watching him at the Rucker last week, admiring his confidence and ease with the crowd. He doesn’t try to command every space he’s in. It just happens. And it’s not just his height. There were other ballers there that day—taller, broader, but he stood out. All eyes were drawn to him.

At least mine were.

And I’ve mentally replayed our fascinating and disconcerting conversation at Sylvia’s so many times. He came right out and asked me about voodoo, and I spoke more freely with him about my heritage and MiMi than I ever do.

“Good thing you aren’t hung up on Ross,” Chase drawls, slicing his fork into a gargantuan slice of cake. “Your feelings might be hurt seeing him with his wife at that table over there.”

Chase nods his head across the room, and before I can stop myself (dammit!), I turn in that direction. My eyes collide with Kenan’s and my breath stutters.

The man is fine. There’s no getting around that.

Obviously, he’s back from Philly. It’s okay that he hasn’t called. I’ve been telling myself that it’s for the best so we can keep things in a little box marked ‘friendship.’ It’s only now, when our eyes meet and cling, that I admit I was lying to myself. I missed him and hoped he’d call even while telling myself otherwise. My gaze drifts to the beautiful blond woman at his side.

“Oh, pretty blue-eyed blondes with big breasts not your type?”

“Used to be. I was married to one for a long time.”

He said “used to be,” but it looks like they still are. I jerk my head back around and Chase’s cruel scrutiny is waiting for me.

“Like I said,” Chase says with a stiff little smile, “it’s a good thing.”

“I heard she’s on that new reality show,” Amanda interjects. “Baller Bae, and that Kenan moved to New York to be closer to her since it’s taping here.”

That’s not how Kenan told it, but I’ve taken a vow of silence on the subject of Kenan Ross, and I’m certainly not breaking it for these two loose-lipped fools.

“Open your presents, Bill.” I lean past Chase to tell my friend. “If you don’t love what I gave you, I want it for myself.”

Billie doesn’t need much persuading, and squeals and coos over every gift. The whole time, I stubbornly refuse to look back in the direction of Kenan and his ex-wife, even though I feel his eyes on me more than once.

“Lo!” Billie’s squeaks and holds up the gift I made for her. “This is gorgeous. One of your designs?”

I smile and nod, swelling with quiet pride when Billie puts on the little bolero jacket. It’s sequined, and the stitching is so subtle it’s practically invisible. The embroidery on the elbows and at the collar is intricate and vibrant.

“I love it so much.” Billie stands for her hug. I take the few steps to reach the head of the table.

“I love you so much.” I hold her close and whisper in her ear, “Be careful what you wish for, Bill.”

She jerks back and peers into my face, startled green eyes searching mine for a knowledge she can’t be sure I have. I don’t even really know, but I get these urges. Promptings. Strong feelings. I don’t always know what they mean, and most of them I ignore, but every once in a while, I say what I see, and I see Billie wishing for something she shouldn’t have.

“Okay, enough of the love fest,” Chase says. “Either you two start making out or break it up and open my present, Billie.”

Billie stumbles back to sit down, sending a dazed look at me before starting back in on her pile of presents. I return to my seat, and feeling eyes on me from that direction, finally give in and glance over to Kenan’s table. I’m ready to cross my eyes or stick out my tongue—do something that throws him off his game—but it’s not Kenan staring at me.