I let out a loud hiccup. “I told you … it’s me. I’m the problem.”
Kay fluffed her long curls before meeting my gaze. “What did you do?” She glanced at her watch. “And make it quick because we don’t have much time.”
I took my time answering the question because saying it out loud would make it real. Instead, I ate a piece of the glazed cherrywood bacon. Groaning, I held it up. “This is delicious.”
“Babe”—Kay squeezed my hand—“I love you, but the wedding shower is in an hour. And I need you to be there and be the amazing person you are.” She glanced at Bri. “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”
Bri hunched a shoulder. “Just that she needed to get out before the wedding shower.”
“And because I missed you,” I added. It had been a few days since I was forced to move. While we’d spoken several times, I hadn’t seen Bri since the night I moved in to the new place because she’d been on maid-of-honor duty.
Kay pulled the plate away from me. “Stop stalling. What happened?”
“Nothing,” I assured them. “I just wanted to brunch with two of my favorite people.”
Raising a challenging brow, Kay said, “On the day of my wedding shower? When I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on bitesized food, cucumber sandwiches, and pastel-colored drinks?”
Brianna giggled. “That’s exactly why brunch was a good idea, Sissy. Crustless bread and watered-down cocktails are not my idea of a good time.”
I held up my fork. “That part.”
Kay leaned back into her chair. “It doesn’t matter. But I swear if I don’t see either of y’all with a plate of stuffed mushrooms, veggie tartlets, caprese skewers, and bacon-wrapped dates, I will kick both your asses.”
“Bacon-wrapped dates?” Bri swallowed. “Yuck.”
Frowning, I finished my pancake, which by the way was delicious. Roasted apples and cinnamon-spiced maple syrup.Yum. “Wait a minute, what happened to the chicken wings, meatballs, deviled eggs, and the fruit table?”
“I’m compromising.” Kay grumbled, glaring at Bri. “You already know this.”
“Still”—Bri finished my potatoes—“it’s bad enough I have to wear pastel colors. You know black is my aesthetic.”
Kay twisted her neck, and for the first time I took a good look at my friend. While her makeup was flawless, I noticed the cracks in the foundation. Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw was clenched, and her eyes … lifeless.
“It’s almost over,” Kay breathed, her chin trembling with emotion. “It’s almost over.”
“Sissy?” Bri’s expression softened. “Are you okay? If you don’t want to do this, say the word, we’re out.”
“I’m fine,” Kay exclaimed. “Please. I’m already hearing this from Mom. I can’t talk about it with you.”
Bri leaned forward. “But, Sissy, you don’t look happy for someone about to walk down the aisle in a couple of weeks.”
The last several months, Bri had been dropping hints that something wasn’t right. Amir’s mother was one of those society types, like Allisifer. Nothing was ever good enough for her. She’d made the entire wedding planning experience unpleasant with her lofty expectations. This shower compromise seemed to be the tip of the iceberg for Kay, and I definitely understood where she was coming from.
Concern took over, and I slid into the side of the booth with her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. “Are you okay? I can’t believe Mama G hasn’t told Amir’s mother off yet.”
“Oh, she did,” Bri chimed in.
That wasn’t hard to believe. Genie Cobb grew up in one of the toughest neighborhoods on the East Side. Now, she was deputy mayor of Detroit and the third Black woman to serve in that role. Before that, she helped run Cobb Law LLC with her husband, Marc. Needless to say, she didn’t play. Not about her business, her husband, or her kids.Or me.
The difference between Ma and Pop, as I called them, and Amir’s parents was stark. They were prominent members of the community, but they didn’t flaunt their wealth. They were down-to-earth and never forgot where they came from. And it showed in their community work. That wedding shower menu? It had to be Amir’s mother who’d come up with it because Mama G hated that high-brow food, as she called it.
Sighing, Kay thumped my hand away.
I rubbed the sore spot on my knuckles. “Ouch,” I muttered. “Can I be concerned about my friend?”
“This conversation is supposed to be about you.” Kay bumped my shoulder. “Move.”
Returning to my seat, I bit down on the last piece of bacon. “Fine. But I refuse to eat bacon-wrapped dates.”
