Page 91 of This Could Be Us

“I talk it through with my therapist, and the girls have talked with a family counselor about it. Overall, they’ve adjusted remarkably well, maybe because Edward was around so much less the last couple years.”

“You still think Inez seems to be taking it the hardest?” Hendrix asks, brows pinched.

I sigh and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Edward could never do any wrong in her eyes, and even with all the undeniable evidence that he did indeed do wrong, she’s still on his side.”

“I know this is a lot to navigate,” Lola says, “but I’m glad it all came out. Glad you got rid of him and have taken your power back.”

“Not only was Edwardnotinvited to the cookout,” Hendrix interjects, “he was the raisins in the potato salad. Like, who letyouin? Good riddance and good for nothing.”

“I never liked him.” Lola offers her best big-sister sneer. “Uppity. And that mama of his, never trusted her.”

“We agree on that point,” I say dryly. “Can you believe he thought I would pack up the girls and move to Boston to live with my mother-in-law who doesn’t even like me?”

“I’m still not over that Boston Celtics jersey he loved so much being his downfall.” Lola chef-kisses.

“No, his downfall,” Hendrix says, “besides your fearless sister, was that fine-ass accountant Judah Cross.”

A Whitney Houston sweat breaks out across my top lip as soon as Judah’s name enters the conversation.

“The accountant who busted Edward is fine?” Lola glances at me accusatorially. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

“Because it’s irrelevant.” I ball my hands into fists on my lap.

“Girl, the way he looks at your sister is not irrelevant.” Hendrix casts me a knowing sideways glance.

“How does he look at her?” The expression on Lola’s face can only be described as rapt.

“Like a dog with a juicy bone,” Hendrix whispers.

“I should get thesepastelesover to Cora,” I say, standing.

“Or a juicy ass.” Hendrix slaps my butt and tugs my waistband, forcing me back to the couch. “Sit down.”

“You’ve barely seen us together,” I tell Hendrix. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw him here at the house,” Hendrix counters. “And even then helooked like he wanted to fix all the shit Edward had caused and then take you to the nearest bed for some nerdy back cracking.”

“Once. You saw us together once,” I concede. “And he did not look at me like—”

“And chile, you shoulda seen his face at the Harvest Festival where Soledad was cooking,” Hendrix barrels on.

“That Soledad experience thing?” Lola asks. “What happened?”

“When I was calling her name selling tickets,” Hendrix says, “you woulda thought I used a dog whistle the way that man’s head whipped around. Nearly detached his retina.”

“These canine analogies really are unfortunate,” I mumble.

“He was with his family,” Hendrix continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “His ex-wife, her husband, and Judah’s twin sons. All Black, blended, and healthy. It was a beautiful sight to behold, honestly. They wanted to go to Sol’s pavilion, but the only tickets left were for the last seating of the night, and they had to leave. But guess what?”

“What?” Lola asks, elbows propped on her knees.

“Judah left with his family.” Hendrix allows a dramatic pause. Of course she does. “And came back, honey. Came back to see our girl, and I wasn’t there, but Yasmen said that man was following Soledad all night with his eyes.”

“That is so dramatic,” I say.

Hendrix points one almond-shaped nail at me. “But accurate!”

“You weren’t even there,” I tell her with an exasperated laugh.

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