Page 25 of Ella Gets the D
Erica has zero desire for kids or a husband and spends her coins on exotic vacations and fancy skincare treatments. Hence, no makeup.
Her hands move in a language that’s unique to her to emphasize why she’s right. I catch the tail end of the rant:Let her get dick.
“So we’re supposed to be okay with Charles thrusting into Goldilocks while Ella stays at home with the kids in her chastity belt? Make it make sense,” Erica says with a flick of her Marley twists. She scans our friend circle for the person who will challenge her edict.
“Thanks for your concern about my vagina, but I don’t plan on partaking in any one-night stands.” I reach to pat her shoulder but find my hands in her twists. “I need your hair tech to bless me.”
“I’ll text you Monique’s number.” She unthreads my fingers running through the black bundles with envy. “Do not distract yourself from the matter at hand. Pass me the binder, Amy.” Silver bangles create a symphony as she scribbles her next command on paper. “I’m adding a sensual self-care class.” Her eyes return to mine. “As much fun as test-driving a new man can be, you don’t need one. You can pleasure yourself.”
Charles hated the idea of toys, which is why he never used them. Outside of a hidden vibrator I kept for when he was away, I never got myself off with my fingers. “My girl Janelle throws sex toy parties, and she makes house calls.”
“Janelle Thomas?” Amy reaches for her glass and gets a smack to the hand.
Erica tilts her head. “You know Janelle? She’s my soror.”
Amy leans in and squeals. “Of course! She’s our toy dealer. She helped outfit our sex room.”
“Shut up! I have a consultation with her to put one in my closet. Do you have pictures of yours?”
The pair isolate themselves in the corner and compare notes.
It’s crystal clear how much I missed out on in my marriage. A sex swing is nice, but I would’ve settled for a committed husband who took out the trash and picked up milk before we ran out.
Now that’s sexy. No assembly or batteries required.
I took whatever was given to me for far too long. Never once did I ask for the moon. Only the bare minimum, and even that was too much.
My tongue darts to the salty rim of my margarita. “Sign me up,” I say before taking a gulp. “Let’s make it a sleepover at my new house.”
The screams from our cabana mimic the sound of hyenas. I’ve never felt so alive. So free. So drunk.
I spent the greater part of yesterday getting the townhouse ready for our arrival. Nothing fancy—it’s perfect the way it is, and I’m on a limited budget. Just some new bedding and summer essentials. Haile still needs a mini day-bed, but I’ll cross it off the to-do list that won’t go away when I get to it. It’s not like she won’t be in mine.
That leaves me with finding a job after an eleven-year hiatusandaffordable childcare for Haile. Charles’s child support should cover it, but separation has taught me to secure my own bag.
And not marry a dick. Well, not an asshole. “I need to get laid.”
Where’d that come from?
The bottom of the collection of cocktail glasses you’re gathering like infinity stones.
Amy is on a quest of indecent exposure. Erica is texting her friend, one who comes with more benefits than a health savings account. And Morgan? She’s staring at me like she hears my thoughts. Maybe she does.
I strain to concentrate, careful not to pee on myself, and send her message:
Why aren’t you back with your ex?
The eyebrow she lifts questions my blood alcohol content and my desire to debate a dead issue.
“Alright!” I sing-song into our circle. “Tonight wasamahyzing.” The last word comes out like an attempt to sing the Negro National Anthem with the vocals of a reality show reject. The ancestors aren’t pleased.
I try again, grab my coveted divorce binder, and place it over my chest. “I accept the challenge. I vow to pierce my nipples, jerk off, and buy all the sex toys.”
“Get yours, sis!” A tan beauty in a floral wrap dress walks by with a wink.
“Okay, El. Come down now.” Morgan extends her hand for me to take. When the hell did I stand on the bench? “I think it’s time to go.”
She’s not wrong.
