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Then I turned and headed to the set of French doors where my bags were. So many thoughts, concerns, and even anticipation racing in my mind. I rang the doorbell once and waited less than a minute before the door opened.
My lungs filled with love and excitement when Consuela’s hourglass frame swung her arm in the air and sang, “Shi-Shi!” Her eyes were as bright as her pink matte lipstick against her brown scrubs and rubber clogs. “You’re here!” Her accent was as rich as ever.
“Yes!” I walked into her for a reciprocated hug. “I am! It’s so good to see you!”
She smelled amazingly feminine with flowery and lavender notes. And behind her, a waft of a clean home flowed into my nostrils. Pine, citrusy-orange, and “wealthy alpha thug” pushed through my mouth, tickling my senses.
I pulled back and beamed at her. “The place looks amazing, and you look and smell even better.”
“Awww! Gracias, Señorita Shi-Shi.” She placed her hand over her chest. “Come in. You must be cold.” She went for my bags. “Let me help you.”
I waved off my driver before picking up a few of the bags by the handles, too. Consuela managed to close the door behind me. “Welcome home!”
That greeting gave me pause, causing me to swing around to face her. “Home?Well…” I considered it for a moment. “I guess wherever my child calls home, I should, too. Right?”
“No!” She shooed me with her hand before taking my coat. “Because, Señorita Shi-Shi, you are loved, and your home is wherever you are loved.”
Consuela had become a big sister/mother to me over the years. She’d been a constant here at Jas’ home. She ran it like the back of her hand. The woman had seen me at my lowest lows as a mother and a parenting partner to an overbearing Jas. She’d experienced me as his lover, too, finding us while stealing away moments to have him behind me in the pantry or above me over her pristine countertops. Consuela has seen more of my candor than most. Because of how she handled my less-than-stellar moments, I’d come to trust and respect her. It didn’t hurt that she adored my life’s best work.
“Thanks, Consuela,” I murmured, offering a slight gracious bow while trying to conceal my gushing.
“Again, I’m so sorry about your loss.” She performed the signing of the cross. “I have something for Señorita Noelle.”
My lips twisted to the side, and I nodded, remembering what brought me to New Jersey. “Yeah,” I sighed. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that it comes in ebbs and flows, and those ebbs can be betraying at times.”
With her fingers threaded at her pelvis, Consuela nodded with empathy. “Yes.”
“Speaking of which,” My eyes circled the grand foyer, and ears perked for a distinct sound. “Where is she?”
“Oh!” Her face lifted. “Amy has her upstairs freshening up. Chi-Chi had an accident.”
I sucked in a breath. “Oh, no!” Consuela nodded with heavy shoulders. “But she’s been doing so well with going potty.” I’d made sure of it before I flew out for Alana’s tour two months ago, once again leaving my baby behind. “I even had her using the toilet when she flew in to see me last month in Florida.”
With a twisted regretful moue, Consuela offered, “She’s been doing well. I think it’s because of being so excited you were visiting today.”
That sheared my already battered heart. Whoever said a woman could have it all was full of shit. I’d done well for myself since learning of my pregnancy. I’d shot commercials for top brands likeAsè Garb, starred in the professional football league’s commercial as a cheerleader for theConnecticut Kings, and danced and choreographed for Dale, Alana, and Pixie. I had even done two top syndicated morning television news shows, teaching the hosts how to do the infamous Dale choreography I’d created that had gone viral onTikTok. And not to mention the eight music videos I’d choreographed and/or starred in.
My dance studio had been turning down applicants because we’d been overwhelmed with members, and my club in Montclair had generated more returns than the average club in its first year. Money had been generous; time had not. And time was, more often than not, a more valuable asset for a mother to give her child. It had been a regret I’d been living with since delivering a six-pound, two-ounce baby girl nearly three years ago. A guilt keeping me awake some nights, whether I was away working or holding her in my arms at night while in my bed at home.
“So was I,” I replied.
“And the dance contest in Costa Rica, huhn?” Consuela made a clicking sound with her tongue. “I know you’ll do great.”
“We’ve been practicing for over a week now. It’s been gruesome. Two more weeks to go. We’re getting there.”
“How’s the weather down there?”
“In the high eighties with occasional rain.” I shrugged. “It’s gorgeous. We need to acclimate to the region for our lung capacity and stamina. I think that’s how we came in second place last year in Brazil. The rainforest was a feat for most of the dancers. Traveling from so many regions over the past few months would’ve made for torture in that climate. I want my dance team to work smarter and not harder.”
That reminded me of my things. I tossed my attention to the bags. “I brought you garments from Amsterdam. I even bought moisturizing creams from Sweden two weeks ago. I bought a couple of bottles for Frankie, too.”
“Ahhhh!” She whistled as I handed off the bags. “Gracias!”
“I know your husband likes licorice. I got him a few packs from the Netherlands. Oh, my goodness, Consuela! You have to see their little shops over there. So adorable!”
“I bet! We got the teas you had shipped from India. Frankie loved them!”
“Oh!” Suddenly, I recalled. “West Bengal. Yeah. I hardly had time to shop there, but couldn’t pass up that opportunity.”
