5. Sawyer #2
I rested my hand on my stomach, trying to ease my worries.
I had a habit of thinking of the worst possible scenarios and letting the negativity fester.
The truth was, I’d known my girls all my life, and I knew they’d love me and my baby regardless.
Aside from Soleil, this baby already had two aunties who wouldn’t hesitate to spoil them rotten. I couldn’t wait to see their faces.
Brit’s second-floor apartment was settled in a sunny corner of Tampa in a modern building with palm trees as tall as giraffe necks swaying in the light breeze outside.
I knocked before taking a step back and smoothing my free hand down the oversized burnt orange cardigan, scarf, and leggings I had on while holding the sweet potato pie with the other.
I heard Beyoncé’s country album blasting through the door before Kaneesha opened it a few seconds later, revealing Brit’s two-bedroom apartment with an open-concept area that flowed from the living room straight into the kitchen.
The scent of fresh stuffing and other fixings hung in the air as Beyoncé’s vinyl spun in the corner.
“Happy Friendsgiving, beauties! I brought dessert and my eating leggings,” I announced with a smile.
Kaneesha pulled me into a side hug, careful not to upset the pie. “Hey, girl, hey! Where the hell have you been?”
“What do you mean? I texted y’all like every hour I was on the road.”
She folded her arms across her chest. Neesh was a couple of inches shorter than me with warm, milk chocolate skin and long, bone-straight hair that stopped at her thin waist. She had a wide, bright smile, a pointy nose, and a slim build.
“I’m not talking about today. I’m talking about in general. You’ve been ghosting us like a bad Tinder hookup, and I’m ready to fight about it.”
Kaneesha had always been the life of every party, whether she was invited or not.
And probably the reason half of them ended early.
Somebody’s nigga was always up on her, which always had bitches ready to fight.
Neesh wasn’t the type to back down either.
She cussed like a sailor and had a mouth like a loudspeaker, which was the reason she was one of Georgia’s up-and-coming radio morning show hosts.
My girl had been through her share of messy breakups and was now in her soft girl era, even though she was still always ready to throw hands.
“Look at you. I’ve been here for two seconds, and you’re already being dramatic. I haven’t been ghosting y’all. My wi-fi has just been shitty over the past few weeks,” I commented before setting the pie down on the kitchen counter. “Where’s Brit?”
“Down the hall in the bathroom, plucking her chin hairs,” Neesh shouted before cackling.
“I heard that, bitch!” Brit hollered from down the narrow hallway. “And it’s chin hair , not hairs. It’s literally one fucking hair, and every time I see it, I feel like a billy goat, so I pluck it. It’s been like fifteen years,” she confessed as she dashed into the living room.
Brit was the glue of our trilogy—the hard-shelled thug with the warm, nurturing center.
She grew up on the same country backroads as me, and as the eldest of four and being the only girl, she’d been “the nurturing one” ever since she was six years old.
She was the host of this year’s Friendsgiving, and I knew the control-freak in her was taking things way more seriously than Neesh did last year when everything she served had a charred layer on top.
Brit had sienna brown skin and long, honey brown faux locs twisted up into a high bun on top of her head. She was my height, but had more curves and a bigger bust than I did, and her makeup and lashes were almost always done—even when she was rocking a bonnet.
I trekked over to greet her with a laugh and a warm hug, careful not to hug her too long so that she wouldn’t feel or notice my baby bump. “Not a billy goat.”
“That’s what I said,” Kaneesha added with a giggle.
“Yes, a billy goat. Baa, bitch,” Brit replied with a chuckle, flashing her pearly whites and dimpled smile. “Or whatever sound those mothafuckas make. C’mon, let’s go into the kitchen.”
Kaneesha and I followed Brit into her kitchen, where a mahogany apple-scented candle burned next to the sink.
The fridge was covered in magnets from places she’d traveled to over the years and a photo booth strip of the three of us from last year’s Friendsgiving in Georgia.
The oven was working overtime, cooking the food and heating the entire unit simultaneously.
The counter was filled with mixing bowls, dusted flour, spilled oil, and casserole dishes.
“So, what’s on the menu this year?” I inquired. “I’ve got dessert covered as always.”
The mention of my pie made Brit cheese from ear to ear. “Mmm, yassss. Bring that pie here,” she replied, leaning in to get a good whiff. “I know this shit is gon’ slap harder than a song from Kirk Franklin and the Family in the nineties,” she declared.
I giggled. “And is.”
“Seriously, girl. I need your mama’s recipe. This pie smells like it was handcrafted in heaven by the aunties Pattie Labelle and Tabitha Brown themselves.”
Neesh agreed with a nod. “That part. Next year, I want a pie to myself.”
“Well, shit, let me go ahead and place my preorder now too,” Brit added.
Inside the kitchen, the smell of mac and cheese, meatballs, candied yams, collard greens, and sweet potato pie had all come together in one delicious soul food aroma.
Brit was at the stove fluffing up the stuffing, Neesh was in the corner sipping her glass of wine and pretending she wasn’t sneaking meatballs from the crockpot while I arranged the table.
“The food is almost done, y’all. It should be about another fifteen minutes,” Kaneesha announced as she pulled her tray of baked mac and cheese out of the oven. “And look, I didn’t burn the top too badly this year. I call that growth.”
I watched her proudly set it on the table.
Brit giggled. “It’s about time you grew out of calling everything you burn Cajun because it’s not. It’s just nasty, friend.”
“Whatever.” Kaneesha rolled her eyes before plopping down into a seat around the table and scrolling through her phone. “Oh shit,” she mumbled.
“What?” I quizzed, stopping to stare at her.
“So . . . not to bring down the vibes by bringing up old shit, but did anyone see what Lawrence posted on IG a few hours ago?” Kaneesha quizzed.
“No, but if he doesn’t have his fat ass head stuck in a deep fryer instead of a turkey, then I don’t wanna know,” I replied coldheartedly.
Lawrence was my cheating ex, and the reason I didn’t trust a Gemini as far as I could throw them. Although Kareem had proven himself to be different, I was still dealing with the residuals of my last failed relationship, and it had been over a year and a half.
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that, friend. He’s engaged,” Neesh announced.
Brit’s eyes popped wide, and so did her mouth. “Engaged? To who? His mirror? Because nobody, not even his mother, loves that cheating ass bum more than he loves himself.”
“If this nigga is getting married, it just makes me feel like at this point, I’ll probably meet an extraterrestrial before I meet my husband.”
Brit scoffed. “Like, God, if You ran out of faithful servants, then just say that. Because who the hell would agree to marry a nigga that shares his dick like an all you can fuck buffet?”
“I know, right? And had the nerve to caption that shit saying he found his forever. Nigga bye.”
Brit’s face soured as she rolled her eyes. “Forever? I think he means for the moment. His ass couldn’t commit to a gym membership, let alone a marriage. I give that shit three months, tops.”
Neesh snickered before turning to me, quietly observing. “You’re pretty quiet over there.”
“What is there for me to say? I’m good over here. I’m glowing, and he’s waking up every morning to spray on his hairline. It’s a beautiful day in my fuckin’ neighborhood,” I stated plainly, managing to keep my cool.
Brit’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I know that’s right! Fuck that nigga and his bald-headed mama too.”
Kaneesha raised her wine glass. “I don’t argue with the truth.”
“And can we get an amen and two snaps for the grown woman evolution! I’m proud of you, Sawyer,” Brit acknowledged before snapping her fingers twice.
Kaneesha nodded. “Hell yeah. You leveling up like Ci-Ci, boo. Meanwhile, cheater, cheater pumpkin eater is out here proposing with a ring that probably came from a bubblegum machine.”
I laughed while subtly adjusting my oversized cardigan to make sure my belly remained hidden until after dinner. “What about you, Neesh? How are things with Jamir?”
She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Ugh. It’s over. Finito. In the trash. La basura .”
I couldn’t help but giggle. “What? Why? Y’all were good just a few weeks ago. What the hell happened that fast?”
“Keyword is were ,” she said, pausing for dramatic effect. “I caught this nigga looking at midget porn, y’all.”
Brit and I traded glances before bursting out laughing. “I’m sorry, what?” I snickered.
“Yeah. I’ma need you to run that back for me one more time.”
Kaneesha sighed. “Y’all laughing like y’all not shorties like me. I’m five feet even. That shit had me paranoid as hell, like, is that why he was with me?”
I shrugged. “Maybe he was just looking for comfortable positions to put you in?” I suggested, followed by another laugh.
“Absolutely not. My height is a kink, and I don’t like that shit, so his ass had to go into the block pile,” Kaneesha announced with no hurt in her voice.