Page 6 of Can't Get Enough

“Don’t let that guilt eat you alive,” Aunt Geneva says.

I stare at her, amazed how she and Mama sometimes seem to pluck the thoughts right out of my head.

“How do y’all do that?” I chuckle. “I couldn’t get away with nothing growing up because seemed like Mama was always two steps ahead of every lie I tried to tell.”

“We got discernment,” Aunt Geneva replies with a wink and a smug smile. “God gon’ always tell on you.”

We both laugh at that, though I’m not sure she’s joking. If there’s one thing Mama and Aunt Geneva have always taken seriously, it’s church.

“Are you sure?” I ask, the flash of humor squashed by the returning weight of worry.

“There is very little I’ve been sure of since Betty was diagnosed,” Aunt Geneva says, blinking away tears. “But coming to live with my sister and taking care of her as long as I can—I never been more sure of anything in my life.”

She pulls me close and tucks my face into the curve of her neck. My tears soak her shirt like I’m a child again. I can’t help but think of Mama tonight, the small figure in the back seat of that police car.

It’s funny how the tables turn.

Right now, I wish I could go back to being that child who counted on Mama and Daddy for everything. So far from the woman I’ve become who runs the world around her with a steady hand. I’m barely standing on wobbly legs and with a trembling heart, but I cannot afford to fail and I won’t let her down.

The tables have turned, and now Mama’s the one counting on me.

CHAPTER 1

HENDRIX

Iget paid for my good ideas.

Coming to this party was not one of them.

Another quick glance at my phone settles the uneven thump of my heart. No missed calls. No new texts.

Yet.

My muscles tighten, braced for the call that hasn’t come, and anxiety floods my nervous system as I wonder why my phone hasn’t rung.

Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t.

Mama has been better since Aunt Geneva moved in a few months ago. The doctor believes Ms. Catherine’s death may have exacerbated Mama’s symptoms, or at least proved destabilizing enough that some of her lapses after Ms. Cat’s passing made sense. We can never really know, but taking her meds regularly, being more active, and having someone to watch out for her again seem to have improved Mama’s situation, or at least gotten her back on track. I try to get home to see her and help out at least twice a month, though work has been so busy lately, carving out the time has proven more difficult.

“Check that phone again,” whisper-warns the woman walking beside me, “and I’m tossing it in the bay.”

Biscayne Bay butts up to a sprawling Miami mansion and my companion, Chapel—client turned good friend—may be right. I should relax for one night… while I can. I slip the phone into the pocket of my wide-legged white linen pants and turn up the wattage on my smile.

“No more phone,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Party girl reporting for duty.”

And itisa duty. Copping an invite to one of the most exclusive parties of the year is cool, and I’m happy to be Chapel’s plus-one. She is my client, though, and despite the music thumping through the walls and the sea of beautiful people dressed in all white, thisiswork.

“Last year this time,” Chapel says as we approach the front door of the four-level glass-paned mansion, “I was watching celebrities post photos of this party. Now I’m at the All-White Party snapping my own.”

“Itisthe hottest ticket in town,” I agree. “We know firsthand that Zere throws a fantastic party.”

“That wrap party was bananas.” Chapel’s eyes go wide. “What a night.”

Zere, the host and an executive producer on the reality model competitionLewks, shut shitdownwith the wrap party at the end of the season.

“And you had a lot to celebrate,” I remind Chapel. “From that first episode, I knew you’d win.”

“You were probably the only one who thought so.” Chapel huffs out a laugh. “No one else was sitting at home predicting the five-foot-four chick with vitiligo would win a model competition.”

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