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I wave her on. “Girl, please. Stop all this Secret Squirrel shit and tell me who the hell this man is who has you all head-over-heels.”
“It’s Emerson,” she says, lowering her voice.
My jaw drops, my eyes pop open. “Saaaaaaay, what?! Emerson, Emerson? The Emerson we used to fuck?”
She rolls her eyes, sucking her teeth. “How many Emersons do you know? Geesh. Yes, that Emerson.”
“Ohmygod. Get. Out. Since when?”
“Girl, will you quiet the hell down. We’ve been seeing each other for almost five months now.”
I grin. “Oooooh, you sneaky bitch,” I whisper, getting caught up in the secret. I stand up to give her a hug. “I looooooove it. And you know Persia is—”
“You know Persia is what?” Persia says, walking through the door, catching Porsha and me in our embrace. She tilts her head. “What you hookers up in here hugging about?” Porsha and I both look at her, then each other.
“I was telling her you were going to have a damn fit if she didn’t hurry her ass up.”
She eyes us suspiciously, then shoots a look at me. “And you had to hug her to tell her that?” I tell her she was asking me if I was okay. That she has been worried about me, like she has been. Telling me she’s here for me, if needed, like she is; like we are for each other. She seems to have brought the lie. “Oh, how sweet,” she says, folding her arms. “While you two hookers have been up here hugging it up, I’ve been downstairs waiting on your slow asses.”
“Umm, don’t look at me,” I say, sitting back down. “I’m dressed and ready.”
She rolls her eyes, turning to walk out of the room. “Whatever. But you’re in here holding Porsha’s slow ass up, so same difference. Let’s go already, geesh!”
“I’ll be ready in a sec,” Porsha tells her as she’s walking out the room. Persia threatens to leave in her own car if she’s not. Porsha waits a few minutes more, then mouths, “Do you think she heard us?”
I shrug. With Persia, even though she didn’t say anything, there’s no telling if she heard us or not. But, at this point, who really gives a shit? If Porsha is happy with Emerson, then so be it. Like I said, I’m happy for her. And Persia will just have to get the hell over it. Besides, I have some news of my own to share.
“Now that I have the two of you together,” I say once we’re seated at our table. “There’s something that I need to tell you both.” We’ve finished our shopping and we’re now having dinner at The Pink Tea Cup down on Seventh Avenue in the Village, waiting for the waitress to come take our orders.
“Uh-oh,” Porsha says, eyeing me over her menu. “This sounds like something we need to hear over a drink.”
“Or two,” Persia adds.
I laugh. “Y’all lushes look for any excuse…” I stop myself in midsentence as the bubbly, blonde-haired waitress approaches us.
She introduces herself as Melonie. “Are you ladies ready to order? Can I start you off with some drinks and appetizers?”
“Yes, that’s sounds delicious. Umm, let’s see,” Persia says, scanning the drinks menu. “I’ll have a martini, dirty.”
“And I’ll have a mojito,” Porsha says.
“You can bring me an iced tea, please. And I’d like an order of soul rolls and crab cakes.” Porsha and Persia buck their eyes. I look at them. “What?”
“Iced tea?” Porsha questions, frowning as the waitress walks off.
I shrug. “I don’t feel like drinking.”
Persia purses her lips. “If you ask me, you haven’t felt like doing much of anything, lately.”
“I know. I—” I stop myself from saying more when the waitress returns with our drinks, then takes our dinner orders. Porsha orders meatloaf with smothered onions, string beans, and mac ’n cheese. Persia orders jumbo shrimp with collard greens. And I order the chicken and sweet potato waffles.
“Let’s make a toast,” Porsha says, lifting her glass. Persia and I do the same. “To sisterly bonds. May we always remain close; no matter what.” We clink our glasses, then take sips from our drinks. “Now tell us, why the hell you drinking iced tea?”
I set my glass on the table, clasping my hands in front of me. “That’s what I want to talk to the two of you about.” I pause, taking a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
Persia and Porsha spit out their drinks. Persia flops back in her seat, covering her mouth. Porsha shakes her head in disbelief, grabbing a napkin to wipe her mouth. “You’re whaaaaat?” they both ask once they’ve gotten themselves together.
I repeat myself. “I’m pregnant.”
