Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SOLEDAD
Okay,” Hendrix says, laying her spoon beside her bowl on the dining room table. “You were right. Your chili should be famous.”
“Told you.” I shrug. “I add sofrito for a little sweetness and deeper flavor. Picadillo style.”
“You have to show me how to make that,” Yasmen says. “You know I’ve been stepping up my cooking game.”
“I hadn’t made it in a while, but I found my mother’s pilón she used to mash the ingredients, and it prompted me to start.”
“Well, it’s delicious,” Hendrix says. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“It’s the least I can do after all your help,” I tell them. “Not just today with the deliveries, but the lead-up. I really started feeling like I had bitten off more than I could chew.”
“Friends help friends chew.” Yasmen smiles. “And I hope you’ve been considering that other thing I asked you to do.”
“What’d you ask her to do?” Hendrix queries, picking her spoon back up to stir the last of her chili.
“You know I’m planning the Harvest Festival for the Skyland Association,” Yasmen says. “Great way for local artisans to display their stuff and businesses to find new customers, et cetera, while the community gets to have a good time.”
“Yas, you the planningest somebody I know.” Hendrix chuckles.
“It’s a gift.” Yasmen fake-buffs her nails. “Well, I had the brilliant idea—”
“Jury’s out on ‘brilliant,’” I interject.
“The brilliant idea,” Yasmen continues, “of setting up a pavilion called Sol’s Farm-to-Table. People could experience one of her dinner parties, have her food, see how she creates the environment. We’d ask servers from Grits who aren’t working that night if they want to help. Give them the chance to make some extra money. We wouldn’t need many.”
“I like it,” Hendrix says, casting a questioning look across the table to me. “You don’t want to?”
“I didn’t say that,” I reply. “I just don’t know that people would be into it.”
“They totally would,” Yasmen says. “We need to strike while the iron is hot. You’re TikTok famous.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Getting there,” Hendrix says. “You have real momentum. In this age, a creator can go from obscurity to verified in no time. I think you should do it.”
“It’ll be extra work,” I groan.
“It’ll be money,” Yasmen counters. “You know the Skyland Association got more money than we know what to do with half the time. They’d pay well.”
Gymnastics, tuition, mortgage, car loan, college funds, utilities, HOA… to name a few things that require more money than I seem to ever have.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I concede, and roll my eyes when they squeak in unison.
“I gotta give it to you, Sol,” Hendrix says. “You stay hustling. These baskets today are just the latest example. Keep putting the work in, honey. It’ll pay off. We’re proud of you.”
“You guys.” I push out my bottom lip and fake-fan my eyes. “Don’t make me emotional. I’ve already almost cried once today.”
“Good cry?” Yasmen asks, pressing a spoon to her bottom lip.
I lean to the side and peer into the kitchen, making sure none of the kids are still in there eating. I’m pretty sure Lottie and Inez went upstairs.
“Lupe and Deja are gone. They went to see their friend Lindee,” Yasmen says. “Her mom’s cancer came back.”
“Jesus.” I close my eyes for a second. “You think you got it bad, and that gives you perspective fast. Do we know if anyone’s organized a meal train for them?”
“I’m not sure,” Yasmen says, a little dip between her brows. “We should.”
“I’ll check tomorrow and see what we can do.” I pull out my phone and make a note to remind myself.
“So about this cry you had,” Hendrix presses. “What was that all about?”
“I didn’t cry,” I correct. “Just almost. Inez was pressing my buttons. The usual teenage stuff. She hurt me, but it’s not important. I’m good. The really disturbing part was that she told me she wants to see Edward.”
“Oh, shit.” Hendrix pours another glass of wine. “Why?”
“He is her father, Hen,” Yasmen says. “Are you gonna take her, Sol?”
“At some point, if Edward will see her, yeah. Of course, but he doesn’t want the girls coming there. I don’t either, but I think she has a lot of questions that maybe only Edward can answer.”
“Keeping her from doing it will only make her want it more,” Yasmen points out.
“God, how y’all do it, I don’t know.” Hendrix shakes her head.
“Do what?” I ask.
“Be moms,” Hendrix laughs. “That shit is not for me.”
“You really don’t want kids ever?” Yasmen asks.
“I would have kids, if my love language was drudgery,” Hendrix drawls. “They be doing too little and needing too much. I got clients. I don’t need kids too. Everyone’s not made like that, and there’s a lot of folks walking around here who should never have tried being parents. I’m not gonna be one of them.”