“Rut?” I ask. “You call having a baby and devoting myself to her a rut?”
“Don’t go getting all sensitive,” she says teasingly, though I’m not in the mood to be teased. “You never leave that big ol’ house. You haven’t made any friends there. You aren’t getting your career back on track.”
“I will,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“Don’t let Caleb run all over you,” Lo plows on. “There is only one thing I take lying down, and that’s the good dick. Even then I’ll probably end up on top.”
Her audacious chuckle from the other end has me chuckling, too. God, I miss her. I miss this.
“I’ve met Caleb,” Lo says. “I doubt very seriously you’re getting the good dick.”
“Oh my God. You did not just say that.”
“Oh, yes I did, honey. I gets the good dick no matter what is going on. That’s a priority. And I’m not talking about that rich-man dick.”
“Ex . . . cuse me?” Laughter defies my good intentions and barges out of my mouth.
“I’m just saying I haven’t met a rich man who can really fuck, ya know?”
“Um, no, I don’t know.”
“Well, Caleb is the only man you’ve ever slept with, so you’ve only had rich dick. You don’t have anything to compare it to. Gimme some of that broke dick. That unemployed, still-living-with-his-mama, sleeping-on-her-couch dick.”
I’m laughing uncontrollably now, and it only spurs her on more.
“That phone-just-got-turned-off dick,” Lo continues, warming to her subject. “Gimme a man who grew up on food stamps and never knew where the next meal was coming from. The rich ones fuck like they’re entitled to your pussy. Fuck me like I’m survival. Like your life depends on my shit. That’s some grateful dick, right there.”
“And yet I’ve never known you to date anyone like what you’re describing,” I remind her.
“Date?” Lo asks, her voice indignant. “Who said anything about dating? I’m talking about fucking. I only deal with those dudes between the sheets and for as long as it takes to give him a ride to the check-cashing store the next morning. You don’t fall for broke dick. Honey, you just get it while you can and ride it while it’s good.”
“God, you never change, do you?” I ask, feeling more lighthearted than I have since the last time we spoke.
“I do change.” Some of the humor leaves Lo’s voice. “Actually, a lot is changing. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask absently, dumping steamed sweet potatoes and green beans into the food processor. “What’s up?”
“I have the opportunity of a lifetime!” The excitement Lo has been holding back bursts across the line, giving me pause.
“What kind of opportunity?”
“You know I hustle, right?” Lo cackles. “Like, take side jobs to make ends meet? Well, I was on this shoot for a friend who was paying me in pizza, and Jean Pierre Louis, that new designer everyone is raving about? You know him?”
I glance around my gilded cage, the walls of Caleb’s house that basically define my existence. My T-shirt is stained from the peaches and peas Sarai had for breakfast. My hair hasn’t been washed in days, and I smell strongly of spoiled milk.
“I haven’t exactly been keeping up with the latest in fashion,” I reply dryly.
“Oh.” Lo sounds deflated for approximately a quarter of a second before bouncing back to full-force enthusiasm. “Well he’s the bomb, and I didn’t realize it was his shoot. I threw some of MiMi’s French on him, followed instructions like a good little minion, and kept him cracking up the whole time. At the end, he offered me a job in his New York atelier. Can you believe that?”
The information zooms through my mind at warp speed, bits of it clinging to the sides of my brain while some of it doesn’t stick at all.
“But . . .” I flounder a little. “But you have one more semester left at Spelman. Is this a summer job?”
“No, it starts right away. I can finish school anytime.” Lo’s energy crackles even over the phone. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“It’s a bit of a risk, isn’t it?” I ask tentatively, not wanting to upset her but feeling like I need to offer a level-headed perspective. “I mean, you spend one afternoon with this guy and you uproot your whole life, all your plans, for him?”
“You mean the way you uprooted your whole life and all your plans to follow Caleb?” Her voice comes sharp and pricks me. It’s quiet for a few moments as I find my way in this foreign land where Lo and I may be at odds.
“It’s not the same,” I say quietly. “Our situations are not the same, and you know it.”
“No, they’re not,” Lo fires back. “Because unlike you, I won’t hand my life over to some man. I’m taking this opportunity by the horns and following my dreams. I would never allow myself to end up trapped in somebody else’s plans for me.”
“Trapped?” I cannon back. “What are you saying? I should have had an abortion?”
“You know I love Sarai.” She pauses. “But I would’ve been more careful about what was going in my lady business and made sure he was wrapped up tight.”
“I’m not the first woman this has happened to, Lo. You know condoms aren’t a hundred percent.”
“I know, but . . .” The quiet on the other end swells with her hesitation.
“But what?”
“I don’t trust Caleb.”
I abandon the vegetables altogether, my hands dropping and falling limply at my side. “Did someone say something to you? You heard something about him?” I ask, dread gathering in my stomach.
“No, nothing like that,” she says quickly. “I saw a shadow.”
My head tilts as I try to discern what the hell this means. “A shadow? I don’t understand.”
“On his . . . soul,” she says, her voice lowered to a whisper. “I think I saw a shadow on his soul.”
“What do you-you . . .” I can’t even stutter right. This is so ridiculous. “What the hell does that even mean? A shadow on his soul? He’s the father of my child, Lo. This is serious. It’s not time for some voodoo shit you caught from MiMi.”
“Maybe if you’d taken the time to learn some of that voodoo shit,” Lotus says, her voice crackling with disapproval, “you wouldn’t be with him right now.”
“Look, you keep that superstitious crap to yourself. I love MiMi just like you do, but—”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Lo scoffs. “You barely know her. Your comments prove that.”
My hurt swells and builds until it makes my eyes wet and my jaw clench. “Just because I didn’t live with her like you did doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”
“Whatever.” A door slams shut between us. We rarely talk about the circumstances which led to Lo leaving New Orleans and living with MiMi. I know it’s a sensitive issue. How could it not be? But all of a sudden, it feels like we should have talked about this more. It feels like something our family swept under the rug for years is about to break us.