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)
“It was one of the best Christmases of my life.” I swallow the hot lump filling my throat. “That was the last time we saw Abuela before she passed away.”
The laughter slowly fades from Lola’s face. She nods. “And Grammy wasn’t far behind.”
You feel the loss of those you loved most acutely at the times when they made you feel so alive. At some point every year, I relive that Christmas when my whole family came together and celebrated the season and life and each other. I hear the echo of their laughter and feel the warmth of their hugs as if their arms surround me again during the holidays. Which reminds me of one very important delivery I need to make.
“Let me get this over to Cora’s,” I say, grabbing a few of the red-and-green boxes of pasteles. “I wanted to check on her before it gets too late.”
“Who’s Cora?” Lola asks, walking over to lift the lid of the picnic pork cooking for our second batch.
“My friend Lindee’s mom,” Lupe says, some of the joy in her face dimming too. “She has cancer.”
“Oh.” Lola watches me, concern creeping into her eyes. She knows how hard Mami’s death was on me. “How’s she doing?”
“Hard to say.” I walk toward the mudroom and grab my coat. “This is her second time fighting cancer. It’s more aggressive, and the chemo is wearing her out.”
“Mom’s organized a meal train,” Lupe says. “And cleaned their house a few times and does a book club with her.”
“Not much of a book club.” I shrug. “Just me, Cora—”
“And me and Yas,” Hendrix cuts in. “We just started All About Love by bell hooks.”
“A classic.” Lola presses her hands over her heart. “Mami loved that one.”
“I’m reading Mami’s original copy,” I tell her. “It has her annotations and notes in the margins. It’s fantastic.”
“I want to see that,” Lola replies. “There’s probably a lot of her stuff still up in the attic. We’ll find it when we clean the house out for the Airbnb.”
“Lola’s moving to open a bookstore in Austin,” I tell Hendrix. “She and her best friend.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about this best friend.” Hendrix wags her eyebrows.
Lola flashes a look at the girls managing their cooking assignments and grabs my and Hendrix’s elbows, dragging us out of the kitchen and into the living room. Hendrix and I sit on the sectional, and Lola plops onto the tufted ottoman in front of us.
“What has my little sister told you?” Lola asks, eyes narrowed, but a smile playing on her lips.
“Only that you’ve fallen in love with your best friend.” Hendrix grins. “I hope that was okay.”
“It’s fine. I could use some advice, actually. We kissed.” Lola bites her fist, wide eyes pinging between Hendrix and me.
“Oh, my God, ” I say. “Isn’t Olive straight, far as we’ve ever known?”
“She did experiment in college,” Lola corrects. “Unfortunately never with me, but yeah. She’s only ever been in relationships with guys. We were packing up some boxes at her house for the move and it just happened.”
“How was it?” Hendrix asks.
Lola sighs dreamily, leaning back on the heels of her palms. “It was like… coming home. I know I can be dramatic sometimes…”
“Sometimes?” I lovingly scoff.
“But,” Lola says pointedly, “when we kissed, it felt like this was what every other kiss in my life wished it could have been. It was natural, but otherworldly. I can’t describe it.”
“You just did. Very well,” Hendrix says. “And now I want a kiss like that. I met a couple of guys at this mixer tonight who could get it if they play their cards right. May have to put some girls on the roster too.”
“As a happy hybrid”—Lola grins salaciously—“I ten-out-of-ten recommend expansion-league dating. I’ve tried ’em both, and can say with all confidence, pussy is superior.”
The three of us laugh. Hendrix and Lola have a lot in common, not the least of which is their outrageous sense of humor.
“What about that guy you met on Tinder?” I ask Hendrix. “He was cute.”
“He pronounced the ‘l’ in salmon.” Hendrix sucks her teeth and shakes her head, disgust evident. “I said check please immediately. You mispronouncing fish. How can I trust you?”
“What about that guy you met at the Black Entrepreneurs Summit?” I ask.
“His rich ass,” Hendrix says, “flying private and driving a Lambo, had the gall, the Black-ass-ity, to say we should split the check. Making all that money? If you ain’t splitting the check with them light-skinned chicks, them white girls, them skinny li’l hos you Instagrammed on the yacht in Saint Bart’s, don’t try to dutch nothing with me.” She gestures to her ripe figure. “Getting more fabulous for your money and gon’ be cheap? Not over here.”
“I know that’s right.” Lola high-fives Hendrix and cackles. “Know your worth, dulzura.”