She ate because her body needed the fuel, not for any other reason. She showered and dressed because she made a promise. She’d show up because that’s what she did. She showed up—she stayed—when everybody else split.
The spa smelled like eucalyptus and money, overpowering the salt from the ocean, but not that particular scent of women too busy taking up space to notice who was missing.
Monique walked into the dressing room twenty minutes late. Everyone had already changed into robes that looked like they cost more than her winter coat.
Lanie, Cassie, Sunny, Aunt Don, and Auntie Deb. All of them sipped pink bubbles in tall, slender glasses, and laughed about something when she entered, still in street clothes: her usual getup of a soft, cotton jumper and short-sleeved T-shirt.
They quieted when they saw her.
“There she is!” Lanie said, quickly covering the tension. “We were about to send out a search party.”
“Phone died,” Monique lied.
“No worries,” Lanie continued, debutante smile still plastered on her face. “You’re here now. Get changed for your massage.” She placed her hand on a neatly folded stack of white fabric.
Monique stared at the robe and then at these women who, she realized, had never given her a choice. Her family dressed up demands as requests. She didn’t move.
“Monie?” Don hedged, stepping toward her. “You okay, baby?”
She hung her head. “My friend is dying.”
No one breathed.
“Chickie, from my support group. She’s been in hospice for weeks, but…” Monique’s voice cracked. “She kept fighting, kept showing up. It’s almost over now.”
“Oh honey,” Deb said, rushing forward as fast as her body could manage. Cassie was right beside her. “I’m so sorry.” Her hand rubbed Monique’s back.
“You going home?” Cassie asked, holding her hand.
Monique shook her head. “She made me promise not to. Threatened to haunt me if I did.”
Nervous laughter poked through the tense quiet.
“That’s good, right?” Lanie tried. “That she wants you to stay and enjoy—”
“Enjoy what?” The absurdity of it all barreled at her.
Nobody said anything, but Lanie reached for her. Monique took a step back. “That girl is twenty-eight and finna die. And you want me to do what?”
The edges of her vision darkened.Breathe…
“Monique Renee,” Don said, her voice full of warning.
“You don’t get to pull rank on me. Not anymore.” She turned to her father’s sister. “Where were you?”
Don took a step back. “Deb, she—”
“You sent her to do what you should have. You’re my blood. Not Deb. The last bit of my daddy that I have left in this world. And you weren’t there when I was trying to stay alive. When I woke up alone after nights that I thought would be my last.”
Cassie pressed a warm, steady hand on Monique’s forearm. “Maybe we should—”
Monique’s hard, heartbroken eyes moved from Cassie’s concerned face to her hand on her arm, and she shook her head. Cassie let go.
“Monie, sweetie,” Deb said, pleading. “We did our best.”
“Did you, Auntie Deb? Really? ’Cause from where I sit, it looks like you were in town making deals andrememberedthat I was still here.”
Deb’s tawny skin flamed red. “Now, that’s not fair.”