Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
If there’s one thing the Wades have figured out how to be over the last few years, it’s fine.
Chapter Five
Yasmen
Sensitive!”
I fold my legs into the lotus position on my mat at the end of Yoga in the Park. It’s the last Saturday of August, and the air is still heavy with humidity. It’s Atlanta so we could be in the nineties until October.
“Can you believe he called me sensitive?” I demand, my eyes flicking from Hendrix to Soledad. “Me! Like Deja skipping class isn’t a big deal.”
Hendrix lies back on her mat, crossing an ankle over one knee, and stares up at the canopy of trees offering shade for our alfresco fitness. “I skipped a class or ten in my day, and I turned out fine.”
“Do not defend her, Hen.” I resecure my ponytail. “Watching some hair thing instead of going to English? Unacceptable.”
“I agree,” Soledad says. “I’d freak if my girls started skipping classes.”
She sits on her knees and bends forward, curling in to her torso, lifting and pushing her lower body until she’s in a perfectly straight headstand…and then spreading her legs into a midair split. Hendrix and I both watch her with jaws dropped. That move is way advanced, and none of us have even attempted it in class yet.
“What?” Soledad asks, head pressed into the mat, upside-down eyes darting between the two of us. “Okay. So I may have practiced a little at home.”
“So you do think it’s a big deal, Sol?” I ask.
“You gonna listen to her about what’s normal?” Hendrix scoffs. “The woman who goes for extra credit in yoga?”
Soledad brings her legs down carefully, returning to a seated position on her mat. “I’m just saying we have to be clear now with our kids about what they can and can’t do. By the time they reach high school, it gets away from you fast. Believe me. I watch Euphoria.”
Her arched brows and wide eyes say that tells her all she needs to know.
“I don’t think we’re at rehab and cam girls quite yet,” I assure her.
“Ya never know.” Soledad leans forward and offers in a conspiratorial whisper, “Season one.”
“Anyway.” Hendrix shakes her head with a good-natured chuckle. “I’m just saying I don’t have a teenager, but I was one, and I was a lot like Deja. The harder my mom pulled the reins, the more I bucked. I’m not saying turn her loose, but maybe…loosen up?”
I force a breath through my nose, not a mindful one, and stand.
“I’ll think about it.” I roll my mat and sling it over my shoulder. “But the decisions she makes now do affect her future. This is part of a bigger pattern. Her grades falling, talking about not needing college and being a hair influencer.”
Hendrix stands, too, and picks up her mat. “That wasn’t even a thing when we were growing up.”
“It’s still not,” I tell her flatly. “Not as a viable career.”
“Folks are actually making a living through social media, Yas, but there’s plenty of time to figure out her ten-year plan,” Hendrix says dryly. “She’s in the eighth grade.”
“You’re probably right, but between her sass and Josiah’s…ugh, him being Josiah…my last nerve is barely hanging on.” I watch as Soledad collects her mat and bag. “You guys got time for brunch?”
Hendrix laughs. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Starving,” Soledad says. “For once my Saturday morning isn’t stuffed. Inez’s soccer game isn’t until three, and Lupe’s recital isn’t till five. Where we eating?”
“Anywhere but Grits.” The words slip out before I think to not slip them.
“Is that because it’s your job or because Vashti will be there?” Hendrix asks, eyes narrowed. “We still need more intel on this little development between her and Josiah.”
“I got nothing.” I fall into step with them as we pass through the ornate park gate to exit.
“But we do think they’re fucking, right?” Hendrix asks.
I stumble, almost falling, but Soledad catches my arm and searches my face “You okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” My heart still trips at the thought. Of course they could be sleeping together. Like I give a damn. “I’m fine. I don’t have any claim on Josiah. We’re divorced. He can do whatever and whomever he wants.”
I try to make my shrug a casual thing and change the subject to something I hope they’ll find more interesting.
“So brunch?” I ask, pulling out my unbothered smile. “We haven’t tried that new place, Sunny Side.”
If they watch me a little too closely over our feast of fruit, French toast, and omelets, I choose to ignore the questions in their eyes. They’re questions I don’t even want to ask myself. Who am I to object to Josiah finding someone new when I was the one who initiated the divorce? They don’t know, no one knows besides him and me, how he resisted the idea every step of the way.