Across the room, the refreshment table was draped in white linen and festively adorned with poinsettias, sprigs of holly and fragrant holiday candles. There were silver platters filled with a variety of hors d’oeuvres—gourmet cheese balls, blinis topped with smoked salmon, pancetta-wrapped mushrooms, roasted cherry tomatoes stuffed with crab. A separate tray held finger foods for the older children, who made frequent trips to the table to grab a handful of the kid-friendly appetizers before racing back downstairs to their decked-out playroom.
A giant flatscreen television mounted on the wall was tuned to Mason Wolf’s football game, which the men were attending today at the Georgia Dome. The women passively watched the game between socializing and keeping an eye on the frolicking children. Every now and then, Prissy would let out a cheer or a cry of dismay depending on what her son was doing on the field. And then everyone would stop and watch the action until they got distracted again.
At the refreshment table, Carlene was chatting animatedly with Winnie Kirkland. The two women, who worked for the same government agency, were gossiping about the scandalous ousting of a top administrator.
On the other side of the room, Asha and Georgina stood by the fireplace talking and laughing. Tall and stunningly beautiful, Asha looked flawless as ever in a black sheath trimmed with white lace. The stylish dress was complemented by a pair of killer black stilettos, the latest from her signature shoe collection. Her black hair was arranged in a complicated but graceful topknot that accentuated the elegant column of her neck.
Just standing there sipping from a glass of wine, she had the kind of presence that commanded attention. It was easy to envision her strutting down a runway to a frenzy of flashing camera bulbs, or striding into her Manhattan boardroom and taking over.
Asha Dubois was a badass bitch, and everyone knew it. Including Celeste, whose resentful gaze had been following Asha everywhere around the room.
Lexi observed all this from where she sat on the sofa feeding Junior. Seated beside her, Samara fed her daughter a spoonful of minced chicken, chuckling when the baby made an appreciative sound and did a little wiggling dance on her lap.
Lexi grinned. “I see Milan enjoys her food as much as Junior.”
Samara laughed. “Girl, yes. You know this child can eat,” she said, wiping the corner of her daughter’s mouth. The fourteen-month-old had satiny brown skin, a pink bow of a mouth and almond-shaped dark eyes that gave her small face the same exotic look that her mother and grandmother had.
Junior had been sucking vigorously from his bottle of milk. Suddenly he paused, his mouth going slack around the nipple as he stared fixedly at Milan. When he grinned at her, the two mothers laughed.
“Look at Junior flirting with his future wife,” Samara teased.
“I know,” Lexi said. “He’s already staking his claim.”
“That’s right.” Samara grinned. “Marcus and Quentin are lawyers. Let’s have them draw up a betrothal contract so we can make it official.”
They both laughed.
When Junior finished his bottle, Lexi lifted him to her shoulder and gently patted his back until he let out a satisfied burp. “By the way,” she said to Samara, “I heard the twins speaking Igbo to each other earlier. They’re really picking it up, aren’t they?”
“They are,” Samara confirmed, sounding pleased. “You know Mrs. Akonye has been teaching them since they were little. Just like she taught Michael and Marcus when she used to babysit them.”
Lexi smiled. “I remember how impressed Shokare was back in college when he found out that Michael speaks Igbo.” She was referring to Shokare Bello, an old college friend from Nigeria.
Samara smiled. “Mama Wolf says it’s only natural that they learn Igbo since the family’s ancestry traces back to Nigeria,” she explained, feeding the last spoonful of chicken to Milan. “While I tend to struggle with different dialects, the twins take after Marcus, who’s always been very good at languages. When he went to South Africa during college to study under Nelson Mandela, he learned Xhosa in no time.”
“I remember that,” Lexi reminisced, smiling fondly. “That trip was all Marcus could talk about for months after he came back. Every time I went over to their house, Marcus would inevitably bring up something about Mandela and South Africa, and he’d get all into it until Michael and Quentin shut him down.” She tsk-tsked. “Haters.”
Samara laughed.
“Seriously though,” Lexi said warmly. “That whole experience really changed Marcus’s life.”
“Definitely. It— Hey, no running in the house!” Samara called out as her twins raced into the room, laughing as they chased each other. At seven years old, Matthew and Malcolm were already tall for their age, and strikingly handsome with dimpled smiles. Like their cousins Micah, Maximilian and Michael Junior, the twins had rich dark skin, thick eyebrows and shiny coal-black eyes.
All of the Wolf boys resembled their fathers—which meant they all looked alike.
Micah poked his head through the doorway and announced to his comrades, “Grandma says it’s time to eat!”
“Yay!” Matthew and Malcolm cheered as they took off after their cousin.
Samara chuckled. “I’d better go help Taylor supervise lunch.”
Lexi grinned. “Good idea. I need to go change Junior and put him down for his nap.”
“Hopefully this one will be ready soon as well.” Samara kissed her daughter, then rose from the sofa and walked off to hand the baby to Asha while Lexi headed upstairs.
Like Quentin’s mother and Sterling, Stan and Prissy had converted one of their guest bedrooms into a nursery for their grandchildren. Although Micah, Max and Malia had outgrown the cribs, all three had been left up to be used by other visiting children. This was where Michael Junior, Milan and Quentin Junior took their nap during the monthly brunches.
Lexi entered the quiet hush of the nursery, smiling when she saw MJ fast asleep in his crib. She changed her son’s diaper and sat in the big rocking chair in the corner, nuzzling her cheek against Junior’s head and gently rubbing his back. As the minutes ticked past, a feeling of lazy contentment washed over her, and she found herself almost drifting into a peaceful sleep.
When Junior dozed off, she got up and lowered him into the crib next to his godbrother. After leaning over the rails to give each child an affectionate kiss, she crept out of the room and closed the door softly behind her.
As she made her way back downstairs, she could hear her mother and Winnie helping Prissy in the kitchen. The sound of Carlene’s gusty laughter was music to her ears, making her smile and mouth “Thank You, Jesus” to the ceiling.
Returning to the family room, she headed over to the refreshment table to pour herself a glass of the nonalcoholic wine that Prissy had provided for her and Reese—the two breastfeeding mothers—as well as Samara, a recovering alcoholic who hadn’t touched liquor in years.
As Lexi stood there sipping her drink, she was joined by Taylor, who’d removed her high heels and made herself comfortable in a pair of Prissy’s bedroom slippers. Her long natural hair was parted down the middle and styled in two big afro puffs that made her look at least twenty years younger.
Lexi grinned at her. “How’d lunch go? Any food fights this time?”
“No, thank God. The boys got in so much trouble last month, I think they’ve learned their lesson.” Taylor picked up a pancetta-wrapped mushroom and bit into it. “Mmm. That’s delish.”
“I know. I’ve already had several of them.” Lexi sipped more wine as her gaze traveled across the room to where Asha was lounging on the sofa, her long legs elegantly crossed as she cradled Milan in her arms. The baby was gazing up at her, utterly transfixed as her grandmother crooned a French lullaby of sweet nothings.
Only Asha Dubois could look like a diva while holding a baby, Lexi mused.
Shortly after Milan drifted off to sleep, Celeste walked over and imperiously held out her arms for the baby. “Let me put her down for he
r nap.”
“She’s fine,” Asha murmured.
Celeste gritted her teeth. “If you keep holding her, she’s going to wake up.”
Asha flicked her fingers at Celeste, shooing her away.
At that moment Matthew, Malcolm, Micah and Max raced through the doorway, laughing and squealing as they played tag. As they chased one another around the room and ran back out the door, Milan didn’t so much as stir in her grandmother’s arms.
Asha smiled smugly at Celeste. “What were you saying?”
As Celeste scowled at her, Asha lowered her head and cooed in French to the sleeping baby, “Doesn’t she know by now that you prefer the warm bosom of Grandma Asha to the cold embrace of Ice Queen Celeste?”
Translating the insult, Lexi and Taylor exchanged wide-eyed looks and then clapped their hands over their mouths to stifle a snort of laughter.
Celeste narrowed her eyes at Asha. “What did you say?”
Asha lifted her cool gaze. “What I said is between me and my granddaughter.”
Celeste’s chin went up. “Yes, well, she’s my granddaughter too.”
“I know,” Asha drawled. “I won’t hold it against her.”
“Excuse you?” Celeste sputtered indignantly. “How dare—”
Asha smoothly cut through her protestations. “Please run along now before your grating voice wakes the poor child.”
As Celeste stood there, mouth opening and closing in apoplectic fury, Asha waved her off as if she were swatting away an annoying fly.
Red-faced and fuming, Celeste spun on her heel and marched over to the refreshment table. Lexi and Taylor looked the other way as she poured herself a glass of wine and tossed it back in one swallow.
“Condescending little bitch,” she hissed under her breath. “Who the hell does she think she is?”
Lexi and Taylor shook their heads at each other in amused disbelief.
“Mommy, Mommy!”
Taylor turned as her four-year-old daughter ran up behind her. Malia was a beautiful child with thickly lashed brown eyes, an adorable button nose and skin the color of milk chocolate. She had a head full of black hair sectioned into long pigtails that were fastened with yellow barrettes. She looked like a living, breathing doll.
Taylor smiled down at her. “What is it, pumpkin?”
The little girl pointed out the door, her bottom lip jutted out in a persecuted sulk. “Max turned off my movie and called it stupid.”
Taylor gave an exaggerated gasp of horror. “He did?”
Malia bobbed her head.
“Now, see, we can’t have that.” Winking at Lexi, Taylor took her daughter’s tiny hand and headed off to resolve the latest dispute between her offspring.
Left alone with a sulking Celeste, Lexi fidgeted with her earring and shifted from one foot to the other. As the awkward silence stretched between them, she turned to Celeste with a bright smile and blurted, “So how have you been?”
Celeste smirked. “Just lovely.”
“That’s good,” Lexi said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Are you looking forward to the holidays?”
“I suppose.” Celeste gestured around the room with barely concealed disdain. “So this is what you all do every month.”
Lexi smiled. “Yes, ma’am. On the first Sunday of every month, we get together for fellowship and brunch.” She paused, then felt strangely compelled to add, “We also volunteer at local women’s shelters throughout the month.”
“How humanitarian of you.” Celeste splashed more wine into her glass and took a deep swig. She was a beautiful woman, slender and petite with smooth café-au-lait skin and eyes the color of cinnamon. Today she looked elegantly casual in a salmon silk pantsuit and conservative matching pumps, her silvered hair swept back into a neat chignon.
Once upon a time she’d been married to Sterling Wolf, and she, Prissy and Georgina had been the best of friends. Lexi could only imagine how hard it must be for her to see herself replaced—in both areas—by a woman like Asha.
As Lexi brought her glass to her mouth, Celeste gave her a disapproving look.
“Should you be drinking wine while you’re breastfeeding?”
“It’s nonalcoholic,” Lexi assured her.
“Oh, good.” Celeste patted her arm. “Had to make sure. Once a nurse, always a nurse.”
Lexi smiled. “I understand.”
When Samara entered the room and took her sleeping daughter from Asha, Celeste scowled and muttered something under her breath.
Not wanting to hear a bitter tirade about Asha, Lexi decided to make her escape. “I think I’ll, um, go see if they need any help in the kitchen.” With that, she set down her glass and beat a hasty retreat.
On her way to the kitchen, her smartphone buzzed against her hip. She took it out of the front pocket of her dress and looked at the screen. When she saw that the text was from her husband, she smiled.
Hey, beautiful. How’s everything going?
She wrote back: It’s been…interesting.
Yeah? How so? Quentin responded.
She hesitated before replying: Let’s just say the dynamics are different today.
Uh-oh. Your mom or Mike’s?
Mike’s. Tell him to come get her!
Lol. Damn.
Lexi grinned, wandering down the hall to the spacious foyer as she typed: What about you? Having a good time at the game?
Yeah. Wish they were playing better tho.
I know, Lexi commiserated. They’re not looking too good from what I’ve seen.
They’ll come back, Quentin said with the unshakable—albeit misguided—confidence of a lifelong Falcons fan. Miss you, sweetness.
Lexi melted. I miss you too. Really enjoyed breakfast on the balcony.
So did I. Enjoyed our shower too. And last night’s massage was…wow.
Laughing softly, Lexi sent back a smiley emoji with heart eyes.
Quentin responded with a devilish grin.
She laughed again and typed: Tell the fellas I said hey.
Will do. See you in a few hours, babe.
Lexi sent another smiley, this one blowing a kiss. Then she slipped her phone back into her pocket and returned to the family room.
Prissy, Georgina and Asha were now sitting together on the sofa, drinking wine and laughing like a bunch of college coeds.
Seated alone on the adjacent love seat, Celeste sipped her glass of wine while glaring daggers at Asha, who seemed blithely oblivious to her seething animosity.
Lexi took one look at the empty spot beside Celeste—and headed right back over to the refreshment table.
“Pretty sad, isn’t it?”
Lexi glanced around as Reese came up beside her. She had her daughter, Savannah, perched on her hip. The two-year-old had inherited her mother’s gorgeous mahogany complexion, dark cat eyes and luscious black hair.
Lexi smiled wryly. “Am I the only one who feels like we’re back in high school?”
Reese snickered. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” She shook her head, watching the older women across the room. “Why can’t they all just get along?”
“Well, Prissy, Georgina and Asha are getting along just fine,” Lexi pointed out. “It’s Celeste who’s not playing nice.”
“I know, right? She’s acting out worse than any of the children.”
“Seriously.” Lexi grimaced. “If my mom was behaving like that, I’d probably pull her aside and have a little chat.”
“So would I,” Reese agreed. “But Celeste is my mother-in-law, and you know how tricky those relationships can be. I get along really well with her, so I’m not going to rock the boat by telling her to stop showing her ass.”
Lexi chuckled. “I hear you. I probably wouldn’t either.”
Reese grinned, brushing her hand across the mop of black curls framing her daughter’s face. “At least your mother seems to be enjoying herself. She and Winnie are yukking it up in the kitchen.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Lexi
sighed. “God is good.”
As Savvy settled back against Reese’s chest and reached for one of her long Senegalese twists, Reese hugged Lexi around the waist. “This is totally random, but can I just say how much I love having you and Quentin as neighbors?”
“Aww,” Lexi cooed, hugging her back. “I feel the same way.”
“Seriously. It’s so nice to be able to walk a few doors down to have a cup of coffee with you or go for a run together or take the kids out for a play date.”
Lexi tweaked Savvy’s nose. “I agree.”
Reese chuckled. “I would say it’s also great to be able to borrow sugar or flour from each other, but that never happens because you and Michael keep our kitchens stocked with enough food to open our own Costco.”
Lexi grinned. “That’s what you and Quentin get for marrying chefs.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining. Quentin and I know we eat better than anyone else in the neighborhood.”
The two women laughed, resting their heads against each other’s.
“I’m just glad the fellas didn’t have a problem with us moving into the same community,” Lexi said.
Reese grinned. “So am I. But we should have known they’d be cool with it.”
Michael and Quentin had been practically inseparable since birth. They were born three weeks apart, grew up on the same block, attended college together and joined the same fraternity. It was only natural that they would settle down in the same neighborhood and have sons born just months apart. Everyone fully expected the boys to develop the same close bond their fathers had.
Once Savannah had been put down for her nap, the women were finally able to head into the dining room for lunch.
Lexi always looked forward to these monthly Sunday get-togethers. She thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Georgina, Asha, Prissy and Winnie—who were four of the most dynamic women she’d ever known. She appreciated the pearls of wisdom they generously dispensed. Whether they were giving advice on careers, marriage, parenting, personal health, beauty and fashion—or all of the above—Lexi came away from each gathering feeling nourished and rejuvenated.
This I Promise You Page 6
