“What gossip are you so nervous about?” She’s like a goddamn shark.
No wonder she makes so much money. She’s told me that on top of keeping a record of her clients’ outcomes, she also has a ledger where she records how many of her clients’ exes she’s made cry.
The number is outrageous.
“I wasn’t nervous,” I lie through my fucking teeth. “But a person can only hear about who didn’t put money in the donation plate and whose teenager was caught vaping for so long.”
“She’s not wrong.” Ashleigh, even in her wild-ass leggings, is a sight for sore eyes. “The gossip around here is terrible. I’ve been waiting for someone to fill me in on a juicy affair or a white-collar-crime scandal, but the best thing that’s happened so far is Collins making a scene at an HOA meeting. But I was there so that tea’s cold and stale.”
“Affairs and white-collar crime?” I try not to laugh. “I’m going to need you to turn off Real Housewives and lower your standards. You live next door to Karen, not Erika Jayne.”
Nothing exciting has happened in this neighborhood since Mrs. Richmond walked in on Mr. Richmond with another woman and chased them both out of the house wearing nothing but sheets. And that was when I was in middle school.
“I will never.” Now Ashleigh has assumed the power position too. Apparently, Housewives is her line in the sand, and honestly? I respect it. “And why wouldn’t she just give back the damn earrings? I still don’t understand.”
“No, I can’t go back there.” I spent way too much of my life scrolling through Twitter reading everyone’s hot takes on Beverly Hills. I refuse to return to that dark part of my history. “But now that we’ve cleared all that up, do either of you want to tell me why you’re at my house so early and not still sleeping off the distillery’s worth of booze you both consumed last night?”
“You forgot?” Ashleigh reaches into her purse and pulls out a T-shirt with my campaign slogan ironed on it. “Today is the Reserve’s Freedom Parade and you’re in it.”
Fuck.
“Never mind, let’s talk Housewives instead.” I try to rewind time, but time travel is still outside my skill set.
“Too late! Time to get our favorite HOA candidate dressed and ready.” Ruby is taking way too much joy out of this. Not that I’m surprised. When I told her I joined the race, she laughed for a solid five minutes straight. And then she FaceTimed me so she could laugh in my (virtual) face.
“Have I ever told you that I can’t stand you?” I glare, but mine doesn’t seem to affect her the same way.
“If by can’t stand me you mean couldn’t live without me, then yes.” She takes the shirt from Ashleigh and shoves it in my hands before moving to my drawers to grab a pair of shorts. “And you should be so grateful to have us on your side.”
The contrast between her all-American, girl-next-door beauty and her hard-as-nails personality never ceases to amaze me. I’ve tried to model so many of my characters after her, but I can never do her justice on paper.
“Well, obviously.” I grab my outfit from her hands without even looking at the shorts she picked. “But why am I grateful today?”
For forcing me to stay true to my commitments and honor my word? I don’t think so.
“Because”—Ashleigh starts to pull out eyeshadow pallet after eyeshadow pallet from her purse, which I’m starting to think is less handbag and more magician’s tote—“we’re going to get you all glam and perfect so when you’re sitting next to Nate all day, people won’t even notice him.”
Any amusement I was feeling seconds ago shrivels up and dies as dread sinks its sharp claws into my throat until I can’t even talk.
“Except for me.” Ruby wiggles her eyebrows and shimmies her tiny hips. “You know I thought he was cute in high school, and after hearing you bitch about him these last few weeks, I’m dying to see how he’s held up.”
I bite my tongue so hard that I nearly draw blood. The urge to tell them both, in extreme detail, what went down last night is almost too much for me to handle. The only thing stopping me is the barrage of questions I know they’ll both have and I don’t have the answers to. Unless their only question is, How good is he in bed? Not only can I answer that, but I can write poems about it.
“Oh, trust me,” Ashleigh says. “He’s not only held up but he’s gotten better with time. He has this nerdy, uptight thing going on, but it really works for him. Like, I just know that beneath it all, he’s a total freak in the bedroom.”
Other than a brief stint in middle school of feeling rejected and othered, I’ve always loved being biracial. I got the best of both worlds. Before I realized I’m not a dancer, I took both Irish step and African dance classes. We ate classic southern dishes my granny taught my dad to make and my mom makes cabbage and corned beef every Saint Patrick’s Day. I’m the result of a love that crossed boundaries and continues to show what a world where differences are acknowledged and respected could look like. There are countless things to love, but at this moment, I’ve never been more grateful for the melanin masking the deep flush burning my cheeks.
All I have to do is roll my eyes and laugh and they’ll never catch on.
“Okay! Well, you two enjoy that discussion without me,” I shout out instead. “?’Cause Nate. Gross. No, thank you.”
I may as well have held a giant, neon-lit sign that says she fucked nate over my head.
Ashleigh and Ruby both turn to me wearing matching expressions of curiosity and suspicion. When Ruby’s posture shifts and her eyes narrow, self-preservation kicks in.
“Gotta get dressed!” I wave my clothes in front of them before speed walking out of my room and into the bathroom.
It’s a temporary solution. I’ve been friends with Ruby for long enough to know I can’t dodge her line of questioning for long, and even though my friendship with Ashleigh is on the newer side, she doesn’t strike me as somebody who lets things slide. Especially juicy things like her friend sleeping with her noted mortal enemy.
Yup.
I thought I was screwed last night, but my life never fails to humble me by showing me just how fucked I can truly be.
Chapter 19
I revel in being basic.
Pumpkin spice latte? Yes, please. Uggs? I want every color. Top 40 pop songs? I have the lyrics imprinted in my brain. But my most basic quality of all is my love for holidays.
Every single one of them.