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)
“Party’s hype,” Hendrix says beside me. “Good job as usual.”
“Thank you. The whole staff did their part.”
Surrounded by partygoers halfway to their New Year’s buzz, we’re seated on Grits’s second floor at a huge table on the landing that leads out to the roof and overlooks the main dining room. Deja, along with Soledad, her three girls, and—for once—her husband, Edward, round out our group.
“I love the decorations,” Soledad says, peering over the side and scanning the Christmas lights and holly still suspended from the ceiling and hanging on the walls. “Everything looks fantastic.”
“That special bunting you made is chef’s kiss.” I grin at her and sip my French 75. “You really need to consider turning these talents to dollars, girl.”
“What’s that mean?” Edward asks, eyes lifting from his phone maybe for the first time tonight. “Dollars? What’s she talking about, Sol?”
Soledad clears her throat and rerolls her silverware in its linen napkin on the table. “Yas and Hen think I could turn some of my ideas into a business.”
“No doubt about it,” Hendrix chimes in. “Joanna Gaines got nothing on Sol.”
“Except a billion-dollar empire,” Edward scoffs, knocking back his scotch.
“Only a matter of time.” Hendrix’s smile is tight and her eyes are sharp. “Given the opportunity to focus her energies on it.”
Edward laughs. “You’ve got good friends, honey.”
“I really do,” Soledad replies, deliberately taking his sarcasm at face value. “Maybe I should listen to their advice.”
The glass on its way to Edward’s mouth freezes midair. “You can’t be serious. We’ve got the girls.”
“Joanna Gaines has five kids,” Deja interjects from across the table, chewing on an appetizer of fried green tomatoes.
“Doesn’t seem to have slowed her down,” Lupe adds, blinking long lashes innocently at her father. “I don’t want to be the reason Mom doesn’t do all she’s capable of.”
I glance between the two confident, composed thirteen-year-olds making more sense than the only grown man at our table. The next generation is scarily fierce if these girls are any indication.
“You aren’t,” Soledad tells Lupe firmly, taking time to look all three girls in their eyes. “None of you are. Raising you is exactly what I want to do. It always has been.”
“What about when we’re gone? I’m starting high school next year, and these rug rats”—Lupe grins, gesturing to her sisters—“aren’t far behind.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Inez adds. “We aren’t babies anymore.”
“Running our home, raising our kids,” Edward says, a frown puckering his brows. “That’s always been your dream.”
“One of them,” Soledad says, her words soft, but laced with a bit of steel I’m not used to from her. “Things change, right?”
A long look passes between husband and wife, and they are definitely holding a silent conversation the rest of us aren’t privy to. Hendrix kicks me under the table. I grunt and shoot her a glare.
“You guys want refills or more of anything before I go?” I smile like all is sunshine and lollipops. “I need to go make sure we’re ready for the midnight toast.”
“I’m good, but thanks,” Edward answers, lifting his phone to resume staring down at the screen.
Soledad fixes a stony look on the phone in her husband’s hand, her mouth set into a flat line. After a second, she glances away from him and catches me staring. Her expression brightens, shifts to the usual sweetness. What is she hiding? What’s she holding? I recognize the strain of keeping things together in public. It only works for so long before you fall apart. I speak as someone who fell apart rather spectacularly and publicly the last few years. I take her hand under the table and squeeze. Even if she isn’t ready yet to share what’s going on, I hope she knows Hendrix and I will be here when she is.
“All right.” I push my chair away from the table and stand. “I’ll be back, but if I get caught up and don’t make it before midnight, toast without me.”
“Can I still sleep over at Lupe’s?” Deja asks. “Kassim’s staying at Jamal’s.”
“If it’s okay with you, Sol?” I raise my brows in query.
“Oh, fine with me,” Soledad says.
“I can take all the girls home with me right at midnight,” Edward offers. “If you want to stay behind and hang with Hendrix and Yasmen, Sol.”
That seems awfully magnanimous from the man who usually does the bare minimum to help out. The thought must also occur to Soledad because her eyes narrow with suspicion.
“Sure,” she says, the word sprinkled with saccharin. “How kind of you to offer, honey.”
“You work so hard,” he tells her. “I always want to make sure you have time for you.”
“Bullshit,” Hendrix coughs into her hand. “Sorry. Something went down the wrong way.”
Them lies he’s telling.
Hendrix and I both know. I just hope Soledad does too. I’ve never liked him. Something tells me we shouldn’t trust him either.