“Maddy, you’re not getting out of this car. Besides, you owe me. We’re supposed to be going bridesmaid shopping.”
“Who. Are. Your. Bridesmaids?”
“Obvi, you. Phoenix. She’s gotta get with Tennessee. They’ve been friends since elementary school, right? I’ve lived here half a year; their love is painfully obvious.”
“Agreed. They have been playing games since pitty-pat and the sandboxes,” I mumbled.
“See? I may be a doctor and know the tangible qualities of the heart, but I can see its intangible qualities too … which is a miracle considering my own love trauma and living on the run for years with Darius. I guess Montana brought out the love in me by being so annoyingly charismatic.”
“Mm-hmm.” I smiled, elated that she was free from her son’s father. Satan’s minions now kept that man preoccupied in the special all-inclusive resort in hell that he bargained for.
“Zuri. Stop deflecting. Who’s the third maid? There’s no way Montana doesn’t have a groomsman position for all his brothers. It better be someonenotlocal.”
“Oh, c’mon, you know I grew up foster. The only friend I had after procreating with Dr. Menace was the wife of a college buddy. The one who helped me create all those fake identities? Anyway, they’re going through IVF … so she couldn’t commit as a bridesmaid.”
“Still deflecting?” I narrowed my eyes, although her story touched me. Zuri had moved to New Orleans to protect her son fromDr. Menace. She’d spent Darius’s entire life undercover, sacrificing all her education and eventually working at Hot Chicken & Peach Pit Maison, where she met Montana. She’d definitely humbled him, and he was better for it.
“A woman … who shan’t be named.” Zuri turned down Royal Street. “She’ll walk with her cousin, Tex.”
“Ugh, I knew it! Lord knows Genèse will wear the hell out of a knockoff, but she better bring a refund for her lifetime subscription of attitude after we get our bridesmaids’ gifts. We are getting gifts, right? Not that I need one. I know Montana is?—”
“On a mission to grace every gossip magazine for Most Expensive Wedding Ever. Even if he only has ten people on the guest list, since humans annoy him. ‘They want his Dodger money.’ ”
“Yeah,that. He’s the only bougie person I know who wants everybody to see him shine, without having that you-get-a-taco-and-you-get-a-tacomentality.”
“That bougie baller will allow others to watch him eat a taco stuffed with gold leaves,” Zuri said.
We laughed as we climbed out of the car, and I held the door open for her at the Babineaux restaurant. I stared at her in awe. “Sis, where you been all my life?”
Zuri smirked.
“No, really, you’ve mastered the art of clowning this family and still loving them. You’re amazing, Dr. Babineaux.”
“Madison, I love the sound of that.” She thanked me and entered the plush restaurant first. A second later, our smiling faces vanished. “Now, we’ve gotta help Momma Babineaux find Tex.”
We met again the following Thursday, commencing our unofficial support group lunch date, and posted up in one of those plush emerald booths at Hot Chicken & Peach Pit Maison. The whole place screamed,Montana got money, from the gold sconces to the air heavy with crawfish etouffee and ambition.
I sipped the restaurant’s specialty, Hot Girl Sweet Tea, with extra lemon, because life would always trip you up and get sourer. Yeah, that sounded like a word.
As Zuri sat across from me on an emerald velvet banquette, I instigated our find-the-missing-twin campaign with, “So, voicemails are out. Texas’s phone is full, not accepting anymore messages.”
“Sorry, traffic.” Phoenix slid in next to me, super thick body built like a blessing and a warning label. “Have you tried texting? I would, but we had a situation in the fifth grade, me and the twins. So, I only text Ten.”
Code for Tennessee’s ass got jealous.Good, she was here. We’d hit the heavy stuff before Virginia sat down. My head tilted. “Texts are a superb idea, assuming he responds. Each time I pop in a message, I feel like I’m ghosting myself.”
Phoenix gave me that gentle smile of hers, eyes soft but reading me like the substance one only tells their diary. Her Louisiana Creole accent slipped out like butter. “Mo komprenn,” she murmured.
I knew she understood, but it was nice of her to say it. Her deep, kind eyes seemed to glimpse the parts of me that were tired of hoping.
“It’s discouraging,” Phoenix said, agreeing with a smirk. “Honey, I feel you. Sometimes, though? Folks need to know you’re reaching out. Even if they’re too broken to reach back.”
She wasn’t wrong. I’d been there. I’d been so depressed my prayers had side-eyes. I sipped my drink again, craving SwampWater Sangria with an extra oomph of courage. But alas, sweet tea and trauma were my cocktail today.
Momma Virginia swept up to the table like Sunday service royalty, Genèse clacking behind her with knockoff-brand-VIP energy. We switched topics. Wedding colors, Sandstone Serenity, Champagne Toast, and Manchester Tan, became the focal point. Because nothing said classy chaos like shades that sounded drunk and rich at the same time. Those colors complemented Dodger Blue, since Zuri claimed she never had a favorite color growing up.
Virginia chuckled, holding up a pumpernickel swatch. “Surround me with more people.”
“You know she meanslittlepeople,” I mouthed-whispered to Zuri, even if that was a stretch since we were talking shades of beige.
