Getting Lucky

“The kind that’ll take us away from Atlanta for a while,” I reply.

“A trip?” Claudia asks. “Like a weekend getaway?”

“No, like a real trip. To Jamaica. Or Mexico. Or heck, even Paris.”

“As long as it’s not Vegas,” Lishelle quips, reminding us all that our trip to Vegas, while fun, had had a dark side.

“Listen, my stomach’s grumbling,” Claudia announces. “Let’s get some food and continue this conversation.”

So we head to the buffet spread, and I make sure to satisfy my craving for hot pancakes smothered in butter and syrup. Hey, I’m eating for two.

Back at the table, I don’t want the subject of the trip to be forgotten. So after I’ve devoured a good portion of my pancakes, I say, “I’m serious about going away. What do you say, ladies? A week in the Caribbean? If we go to Mexico, maybe you two can find your own Miguel.”

Claudia, Lishelle and I have all been impressed with my sister’s boyfriend, Miguel, whom she met when we were in Costa Rica trying to find information on some of my late husband’s illegal activities. Miguel has been the dream boyfriend—romantic, attentive and incredibly hot. He was instantly smitten with Samera and has remained smitten—an impressive feat, judging by the guys in the past who haven’t been able to handle Samera’s hard edge long-term. I guess that edge is to be expected of a girl who was raised in a strict religious home, rejected a lifestyle she found to be hypocritical and ended up working as a stripper. These days, she’s back at school studying to become a paralegal.

“Okay, now I’m intrigued,” Claudia says. “I’d almost be willing to let my family disown me if I could find a man who adores me as much as Miguel adores Samera.”

“Lishelle?” I say. “Are you game?”

“When are you talking? In a couple of months? Because I’ve got work.”

“In a couple of months, no one’s going to let me get on a plane.” I raise an eyebrow. “Everyone at your station loves you, Lishelle. They always allow you flexibility. You’ve got some vacation time coming, don’t you? I’m sure you won’t have a problem getting a week off.”

When neither Lishelle nor Claudia speak, I say, “Come on. This may be our last trip together for a long, long time.” To emphasize my words, I rub my belly. “Seriously, we need to get away now. In a couple of months I won’t be able to get around much, and if I’m going to go anywhere, I want to enjoy it. It has to be now.”

“You’ve got a point … “ Lishelle agrees.

“I’m going—with or without you,” I threaten. “But what kind of trip would it be without my two best girls?”

And suddenly, I begin to tear up. Yes, part of it is hormones. I’ve become incredibly emotional since getting pregnant. But it hits me just how much my life is going to change.

“I’m not going to be able to take off for girlfriend trips for a long, long time,” I say. “If ever again. Even our Sunday brunches … I don’t know that I’ll be able to do that anymore.”

“Maybe not right away,” Claudia says, “but you’ll be bringing that baby out to meet us every week—even if we have to change the brunch spot to your place.”

I wipe at the tears that have fallen down my cheeks. “Ignore me. Pregnancy throws your emotions out of whack.”

And though I didn’t plan the tears, I’m glad they fell. Because I need my friends to say yes. I need them going on this trip with me.

If they don’t go, it’ll blow the surprise I’ve arranged. The kind of surprise that might lead to their own happily-ever-afters.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Claudia asks.

“Hell, yes, I’m serious.” I brush at more tears. “Clear your schedule for the first week of October. We’re going away.”

“That’s two weeks from now,” Lishelle says.

“Exactly.” It has to be then, because that’s when Jared and his brother are available. “Two weeks is plenty of time.”

“We don’t even know if there’ll be availability with such short notice,” Lishelle points out.

“There are plenty of resorts in the Caribbean. Mexico. There’ll be space somewhere.”

Lishelle scowls. “Wait—I think Terrence might have vacation then.”

“Make it happen,” I tell her. “I remember having to twist your arm to get you to go to Vegas, but you had an amazing time, didn’t you?”

“Hey … can’t a girl ask any questions?”

“You can ask questions, but you can’t say no,” I tell her. “Consider this the last hurrah, if you will.”

“I’m game,” Claudia says. “My schedule is painfully clear.”

“Maybe it won’t be, after Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Claudia asks.

“Why not? The Mayan Riviera is beautiful. I’ll go home and start checking on packages right away.”

I stare at Lishelle, waiting for confirmation from her. “All right, I’m in. I’ll ask for the time tomorrow.”

“And if they give you any problems, you have me call them,” I say. “No one wants to deal with an irate pregnant woman.” I narrow my eyes playfully. “That goes for both of you too.”

Claudia smirks. “Point taken. We’re going to Mexico!”

“Or else,” I add in a mock-threatening tone. And then, “Seriously, guys, we’re going to have an amazing time. The absolute best.”

“I’ve got a plan,” I say in a singsong voice as I enter the Pine Lake home I share with Dom. “I think I may have the perfect men for—” I stop abruptly as I round a corner into the family room and see Dominic’s mother sitting on the armchair near the window. “Oh.” I quickly quash my frown. “Hello.”

“Hello, Annelise.” Mama Deanna, as I call her, is sitting on the armchair and knitting something white. She eases herself up to kiss me on both cheeks, the way they do in the old country. “My darling, how are you? How’s the baby?”

Mama Deanna speaks with a fairly thick Italian accent, most of her words ending with an a sound. How’s came out as howsa. She’s short, about five feet two, and round.

“Where’s Dominic?” I ask.

“I sent him to get groceries. You no have no vegetables, no fruit.” She tsks. “You need this stuff now that you’re going to be a mother. Don’t worry—I’m going to help you take care of yourself and my grandchild.”

Mama Deanna pats my arm, as if to say that there’s nothing to worry about because she’s here.

I don’t bother to tell her that I was planning to come home and draft a grocery list. I’d rather not say anything that will draw any attention to my perceived flaws.

And speaking of flaws, I glance around, noting that the place seems considerably cleaner. So clean that the camera bag I had in the corner of the living room is no longer there. “Mama Deanna, have you seen my black camera bag?”

“Oh, yes. I put it in a box in the garage. The place was too messy.”

Turning, I roll my eyes. In the past, Dominic’s mother has come for a week at a time, and I hate to say it, but I have counted the days until she left. I like the woman, don’t get me wrong. It’s just … well, she can be overbearing. I always hear from her that I’m not feeding Dom well enough and a host of other offenses—including the big issue, that we’re living in sin.

I head to the garage, where not only do I find my camera bag in a cardboard box—dumped as if it is garbage—but I see a number of envelopes. All of the bills that Dom and I have to pay. At least I know where the stuff is, so I don’t bother to take it out of the garage. I have no doubts that if I do, Mama Deanna will see to it that she “tidies up” once more.