me on the cheek with a loud smacking noise. “You are the best!” She leaned against the counter and reached down to take off her navy blue pumps. I raised my eyebrow and nodded toward her conservative shoes. Never, in the fifteen years that I’d known her, had she ever worn boring footwear. She’d always sported ankle-and-neck-breaking heels in bright, bold colors.
“Election season. I have to wear these two-kids-and-one-on-the-way heels.” She shook her head. “I mean hello, I can still be fashionable. Look at Michelle Obama.” She brandished her shoe in the air.
“I don’t disagree with you. But if they’re not your style, don’t wear them.”
She sighed and then pasted on a smile. “No, no. I’m just being a brat. It’s fine.” She waved her hand as if swatting a gnat. “I don’t want to put Keith in jeopardy, and image is everything. I’m five ten in my heels, and that means Keith and I are nearly the same height.”
I shrugged as I scraped the dips into the bowls. “I’m sure you aren’t the first tall woman Keith has encountered. He can deal.”
Or not. I’d prefer not so she could find someone else. Preferably not Ben Carson’s doppelgänger. Sienna had made a lot of sacrifices. Recently she began sporting a fifteen-inch weave instead of rocking her natural hair that she usually wore in a short, curly fro.
Sienna made a noncommittal sigh.
“Girl! Get your ass over here and say hello!” Nikki yelled from the couch.
After pouring Sienna a glass, I grabbed mine and walked into the living room. Nikki was in the middle of blasting some of the moms at her kids’ private school.
“I swear they’re cornering me.”
“Who?” I asked, settling on the couch beside her.
“Sandra, Meegan, fucking Lynette.” She growled and gulped the wine.
We’d named them the Witches of Eastwick, and although Nikki had a flair for dramatics, she was right on the money about them. They made Mean Girls look like child’s play. If you didn’t participate in baking fund-raisers with homemade dishes, and come to every event and PTA meeting, then you were deemed a “bad mother.” The only reason they sniffed after Nikki was because her husband, James, was a tax attorney for celebrities and big-deal CEOs.
“I ran into Meegan at the bookstore. I was trying to find something for Junior’s story time, because if I read that damn green pork and egg story again I’m going to stab myself in the eye with a fork.”
Sienna, our resident vegetarian, gagged. “Green pork? What are you teaching your kids?”
“She’s talking about Green Eggs and Ham.” Raina shook her head.
“Right.” I nudged Nikki’s shoulder. “What happened?”
“So anyway, she struts up in her tight little skirt and says ‘Nicole, you haven’t signed up for our bake sale. All parents are required to this year.’ ”
“What do they need now?” Sienna asked.
Nikki snorted. “I dunno. Probably a chocolate fondue fountain for fucking recess.”
“Damn, those kids are spoiled.” Raina shook her head. “Your kids excluded, of course.”
“Oh, they’re spoiled, too. It’s a struggle to keep them grounded. Especially when James is putty in their hands.”
“He’s putty in your hands, too,” I added. And it was true. That man adored Nikki.
“Yeah, yeah. So anyway, she’s all pushy giving me this gotcha look, as if I’m gonna sweat anything this chick says to me. So, I tell her I’m bringing air pudding and wind pie.”
We all crack up laughing.
“The worst part,” Nikki continued, “was that she really thought it was a dessert! Of course I kept going on and on about it being a special recipe handed down from my great-great-great-grandmother.” She took another sip of wine. “Anyway, her dense ass smiled and told me she’d tell the others about my contributions. She must’ve done it because her henchman, Lynette, emailed me last night and told me that it wasn’t funny and I needed to support our children. Blah, blah, blah . . . the children are our future. And she had the nerve to copy James in the email like I was in trouble with my dad.”
“So are you bringing something?” I asked.
“I just said it.” Nikki smirked. “Air pudding and wind pie. Now . . . who wants more wine? Screw it.” She waved her hand. “I’ll just bring over the bottles.”
“Finish your drink first, Nik.” I rolled my eyes. She had a good five ounces left.
“Yeah, and it’s just a matter of time before I’m done.” She looked at Raina and Sienna, then shrugged. “Why’s she trippin’? She knows the deal.”