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My interpretation of these ladies when they sit huddled in the wife’s box, giving death glares and appearing to be better than everyone else around them, doesn’t give the vibe Monica is giving right now, but I bite. “I like it. Sounds like a good group of people to be surrounded by.”Sounds likeare the operative words.
“Oh, yeah. And I’d like to invite you to our first girl's night out postseason. It’s next Friday at seven. I would have told you sooner if my schedule hadn't been so crazy. If there’s any way you can squeeze us into your schedule, that would be great!”
“Uh,” I say as I digest this invitation. I’ve only received side eyes and backward glances from the ladies that sit in the wives’ box. Now, I’m invited to eat their cheese and crackers. I don’t know how to respond.
Monica presses, “We really want you to become a Heartbeat. Since you and Wayne are officially engaged, you must meet the other ladies and join our tight-knit circle. Congratulations, by the way. We’re all excited for you. You’regoing to love our sisterhood. And we’d love to have you,” she beams cheerfully.
I can’t judge whether she’s sincere about wanting me to be a part of her circle or if her welcoming charm is simply a formality that she has gotten down to a science as the head of the Heartbeats. And why did the name of their group sound like a 1970s singing group?
Anyway, my next thought is whether Wayne and I have plans. I can’t think of any. Then, I wonder who all will be there. Moey Dash had been involved in spreading lies about me before our press conference last month. After the press conference, she quickly learned to keep my name out of her mouth or off her fingers since she hides behind her keyboard to talk her shit. Since Moey is always with the other wives/fiances, whether she has a man on the team or not, I’m sure she will be at this gathering.
“I’m honored that you called to invite me. I’m not at home where I can check my calendar right now, but I will check it when I get home and call you back.” That reply should buy me time to determine if I want to dine with my enemy, as far as Moey Dash goes.
“Oh.” She pauses, seemingly unable to grasp her thoughts. “Of course, take all the time you need.” Judging by her tone, she doesn’t get many declines to her Saint’s Heartbeat event invitations.
“Will do.” The upturn of the corners of my lips is evidence of the confidence surging through me. Obviously, Monica isn’t used to being told no or maybe. I feel empowered already by this sisterhood connection. “And thanks again for the invitation. I will let you know if I can make it.”
“Sure,” she replies dryly.
I hang up and focus all of my attention back on the road. I suppose invitations like Monica’s are expected, with myand Wayne’s relationship being revealed. But do I still want the exposure, the invitations, the fake friends? There was a time when I wanted into the wife’s box. I wanted to sit beside them, rub elbows, and tell everyone I belonged to Wayne.
But that’s an old desire. Wayne has given me everything I asked for and more. I don’t need to sit by anyone to feel claimed by him. He has claimed me. I am his, no matter what anyone says or does.
My mind races with thoughts of everything that could go wrong if I infuse myself in that circle. They could be a great asset to my life like Monica said. Or they could irk my nerves with mean-girl energy, snob energy, or by boring me to death. They could be nosey and ask questions about my relationship. They could be inviting me in to learn more about Wayne and me so they can start some drama.
Besides my younger sister, Jasmine, I’m pretty closed off to sister-like relationships with other women. So, maybe I’m thinking too much. Overthinking is what I do.
I arrive at my parent's house, and as soon as I step inside, I'm enveloped in the familiar scent of home-cooked dishes and freshly brewed coffee. My mother greets me warmly, and my father pats my back. Jasmine doesn’t give me a warm greeting. Just gives me a death glare that tells me she’s ready to eat and is upset that she had to wait for me to arrive. Even with her glaring at me, It feels good to be home.
I tell them about Monica’s invitation as we sit down for dinner. My mother raises an eyebrow, and my father looks at me skeptically.
"Are you sure you want to go?" my mother asks. "You know how groups of women can be. It can get messy, especially with the ones that aren’t in secure relationships. They’ll either want to get you involved in their business or try to get in yours."
"I know," I reply. “That’s why I didn’t tell her I would come. I have to think about it.”
Jasmine bites into her steak, chews it, and then sips wine. “What you got to think about? We’re going, and we’re going in hot, ready for all the smoke and the vapors, too, if that’s what they’re blowing.”
Gasping, my mother says, “Calm yourself down, Jasmine. You can just stay out of it if all you can think about is fighting. Wonder who even raised you.”
“You and Dad raised me well,” Jasmine retorts.
My father smiles briefly at Jasmine before it slips away.
“Calvin!” Mom shoots him a warning glare. “Talk some sense into her.”
“Alright, Tonya, baby. Calm down,” he says to Mom, then looks at Jasmine with a more serious glint in his irises. “Listen to your mother, Jazzy. Don’t cause any trouble for your sister.”
“I hear you, Mother and Father,” she says sarcastically.
“You’ve always been a hothead. It’s time to grow up,” mother adds. I don’t miss the look she gives my father. He will have to answer why he’s not taking Jasmine’s sassiness seriously. They always have that debate, which ends with my father promising to be sterner the next time.
“Don’t worry about me, Mom. I know how to act,” Jasmine rebuts. “As long as they do,” she whispers the second part of her statement low enough so only I can hear her.
My mother sighs. “Act like it then. Stop making references to fighting all the time. You’re a beautiful young lady with so much going for you. I don’t think you understand how quickly an altercation can alter your life. It’s literally in the word.”
“Okay, Mom. I hear you,” Jasmine proclaims.
“I hope so,” Mom digresses and returns her attention to eating dinner.
