I gritted my teeth at the comment. Counted to three. Made sure that when I spoke, I didn’t say something I would end up regretting.
“No,” I began. “I was going to say that what you’re proposing sounds very expensive. A small, intimate wedding at city hall would accomplish the exact same thing. A renewal of your vows. And if you still want to go to Thailand, go for your second honeymoon.”
Silence. Nikki must have been mulling over my suggestion.
“You think seventy-five of your closest friends will be willing to hop on a plane to Thailand?” I asked, my tone saying the question was rhetorical.
“Probably fifty or sixty of them.”
I highly doubted that. My sister’s friends were all like her—married with children. Not to mention their careers. I didn’t see that many of them being able—or willing—to head to Thailand for her second wedding.
“Will you do it?” she asked. “Be my maid of honor?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Of course.” I really didn’t have a choice. I could only hope that as the weeks passed—and common sense set in—Nikki would decide on having her wedding a little closer to home.
“Good. I’m so excited!” she squealed. “A second wedding, a fresh start. This is going to be wonderful.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“I was thinking maybe December. Over Christmas, when everyone will have time off. That’ll give everyone time to start making travel arrangements now for their trip to Thailand.”
I suddenly realized that when it came to Nikki, “common sense” wasn’t necessarily a factor. For some reason, she was stuck on Thailand. “I thought you said that Morris wanted to go to the Keys or the Bahamas,” I said, hoping to steer her off the far east course.
“Yes. But I want to go to Thailand.”
I shook my head. My sister. There was no getting through to her. When she got an idea about something, no one could change her mind.
I wondered if Morris even wanted a second wedding, or if he was strictly going along with the suggestion as penance for his sin of adultery.
“Oh, I have to run,” Nikki suddenly said. “We’re going to church.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“If you want, you can meet us there for the later service. There are a few eligible bachelors in the congregation.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lied. I wasn’t against the idea of going to church. Eli and I used to go together sometimes. What I didn’t want was my sister trying to hook me up between hymns.
“Don’t just think about it,” Nikki said. “Do it.”
“Later, sis.”
“’Bye.”
Once I hung up with Nikki, I called Carla and asked if she wanted to go to the zoo with the kids.
“Oooh,” she said. “That sounds like fun.”
“Meet you at your place for noon?”
“You’re on.”
2
I was just about ready to head to Carla’s place when my phone rang. Leaving Rayna in the doorway, I ran into the living room to answer the phone.
I snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
Nothing.
“Hello?” I repeated.
A few more beats of nothing passed, and then I heard the dial tone in my ear.
I replaced the receiver, figuring someone had dialed the wrong number. No sooner was the receiver back on the hook than the phone rang again. I picked it up before it could ring a second time and said an exasperated, “Hello?”
Again, nothing.
“Stop calling me and get a life,” I said to whomever was on the other end of my line. Really…prank phone calls? Twice in a row wasn’t an accident—it was an asshole.
I was just about to pull the receiver from my ear when I heard a faint voice. A whisper of something, but so low that I couldn’t make out what the person had said.
“Who’s there?” Was it actually not a prank call and simply a bad connection?
And then I heard the voice again. Definitely a whisper, but loud enough this time that I could make out what the person had said.
Bitch.
“Who the hell is this?” I demanded. But even as I asked the question, I realized I knew who it was.
Tassie Johnson.
“If that’s you, Tassie—” I began, but the dial tone suddenly blared in my ear.
I slammed down the receiver, convinced that the person who’d called had been none other than Tassie “The Bitch” Johnson. The woman had to be close to forty, but it was clear that she got off on behaving like she was still in junior high.
Oh, I hated her. Hated her with a passion. Instead of Tassie trying to understand that Eli had lied to me about her existence, and accepting the fact that I hadn’t “stolen” him from her, the woman was out for blood. She was living in the multimillion-dollar mansion that Eli had bought while he’d played for the Atlanta Braves. I’m sure she had cars, expensive jewelry and expensive art. Along with her Atlanta home, there were no doubt second and third homes in other cities.
Tassie Johnson didn’t need my condo.
The only reason she was interested in it was because she wanted to make me miserable. Punish me for having been with the man who no longer loved her.
If her petty behavior with me was any indication, it was no wonder she had pushed Eli away. Of course, that didn’t justify Eli’s not telling me about her or the children they’d had together.
I checked the caller ID for the number of the person who had called, certain I’d see a 404 area code. But all it showed was Private Name, Private Number.
That wasn’t surprising. And it didn’t matter. I knew it was Tassie trying to get under my skin. And because I knew that, I didn’t let the phone call bother me.
I headed back to Rayna, who was waiting patiently in the foyer. At two-and-a-half, she rarely waited patiently, which only proved how excited she was to get on with our outing.
“Okay, sweetie,” I said. “Mommy’s ready.”
The phone rang again.
“For crying out loud,” I muttered. I debated not answering it, but if it was Tassie again, I wanted to give her an earful before she had
