The Wife Before

“Yep. Just like that.”

“I bet you it was that girlfriend of his.”

“Fiancée,” I corrected, watching her finish off the cucumber.

“Girlfriend, fiancée, wife, whatever! She’s a whole mess and I couldn’t stand her from the moment I met her. What makes him want to marry that valley girl anyway? Your brother can do so much better than that.”

“I don’t know, but I’m telling you, Shelia, she’s behind all of this. I know Kell, and he wouldn’t just spring something like that on me after finding out she’s pregnant. He wouldn’t just cut me off right away like that. I bet you a hundred bucks she gave him an ultimatum. Her and the baby, or his sister.” I sipped my smoothie. “Evil witch.”

“Evil indeed.”

“What the hell am I gonna do now? I was going to ask him for a little money today to cover the electric bill, but that’s clearly out the window.”

Shelia looked at me beneath her eyelashes, and as she did there was a knock at the door. “I don’t know, girl,” she said, placing the knife down and walking around the counter. “But you need to think quick because I’m not your brother. I can’t keep covering for you.” She smirked over her shoulder before unlocking and opening the door to let Ben in.

I looked away when they kissed, adjusting myself on the stool.

“What’s up, Samira?” Ben followed Shelia into the kitchen. Unlike Shelia, Ben dressed down. He always did. His go-to was basketball shorts and a plain, solid colored T-shirt, but since they had a date in the park today, he stepped it up a notch with cargo shorts and a Nike shirt. He was cute, but I could never see the attraction Shelia had to him. He was cute in a little brother kind of way. Twenty-seven and still with a bit of baby face.

“Oh, not much. Just trying to figure out the purpose of my life right now.”

He laughed. “The purpose of your life? That’s new.”

“She needs a job,” Shelia said, opening a pack of carrots.

“Another job? Damn, Samira. You’ll have about fifty jobs before you turn thirty at this point.” He and Shelia laughed, and I rolled my eyes.

“This is not funny, you guys! I need to find something soon. I can’t keep being out of work like this. Today was a rude-ass awakening and proof that I really need to get my shit together before I end up in a damn dump somewhere.”

“Okay, okay,” Shelia said in a more serious tone, but she was still smiling.

“Well, my cousin is bartending for a party tonight,” Ben said, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of water. “He’s getting paid ninety dollars an hour to bartend one of the counters at Lola Maxwell’s mansion. Ninety damn dollars an hour.”

“Lola Maxwell?” I asked, stunned. “Really?”

“Who the hell is Lola Maxwell?” Shelia asked mindlessly, slicing the carrots.

“You don’t know who Lola Maxwell is? She runs that nonprofit charity for pregnant ladies? Super rich and super pretty? Over a million followers on Instagram? She’s all over the local magazines.”

“Don’t even try to explain it to her,” Ben muttered after taking a swig of his water. “She doesn’t keep up with famous people. You’d think she’d know Lola Maxwell though, since she’s local. I swear you’re so oblivious sometimes, baby.”

Shelia pointed the knife at him with narrowed eyes and I laughed. Their banter was always hilarious.

“Anyway, he told me earlier they’re looking for waiters and waitresses to serve drinks, bounce around and shit,” Ben went on. “I know that’s not really your thing, but he told me they’re paying three hundred dollars for the whole night. Just gotta be there on time and stay ’til the end to get paid. They need a handful of people and it’s an exclusive gig, so you can probably get in if you sign up now. He sent me the link where you need to apply. I can send it over to you. I was going to take him up on it, but I’ve got a date with my girl and can’t bail on her.”

Shelia puckered her lips, blew an air kiss, and winked at him.

“Ugh, I hate waitressing. They’re the worst jobs and if it’s at Lola Maxwell’s place, you know there are going to be rich, stuck-up people all over the place.”

“It’s just one night, Samira,” Shelia stated, giving me a stern eye. “You serve some people, show your face, and then hide in the bathrooms for most of the night if you have to. Doesn’t matter as long as you get those three hundred dollars.”

“Okay—I know, I know.” I recognized that tone of hers. If I kept slacking on the bills, she’d replace me. No hard feelings, of course. But paying the bills on time was part of our agreement. Shelia was a stickler about overdue bills. She’d covered me a few times before in order to avoid being late for a bill, but with no job, no more help from my brother, and a looming electric bill, this waitressing gig was the only hope I had right now—at least until I found another job.