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There may have been ice cream involved.
“Just wait until she finds out about Trent,” Sarika murmured, popping a THC gummy in her mouth.
Vi’s eyes widened in terror. “Fuck, that is going to suck.”
“Ain’t shit Trent,” Imani whispered.
Jumping to her feet, Vi chased Imani around the living room. They hopped over the back of the couch, running into my kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a large island. They ran laps, cackling and giggling like a pair of teens. Grabbing a spatula from the rack over the island, Vi cracked it across Imani’s ass.
The sound echoed through the room.
Sarika and I both snorted as Imani jumped onto her toes, pain on her face as she tried to avoid another whack. “Wait! Wait! Wait!”
A war cry sounded as Vi leapt up onto the island. Her toe caught the edge and she somersaulted forward. The spatula flew across the room as she slid over the white granite countertop.
Battle forgotten, Imani grabbed hold of Vi’s ankle, keeping her from toppling onto her head to the floor.
Another snort left me at the scene.
On their feet, Alicia and Sarika leaned over the back of the couch, looking at a dangling Vi and Imani, who strained to hold her through a fit of laughter.
Okay, maybe it was closer to six glasses of wine.
Imani looked like she was trying to wrestle an alligator as she set a flailing Vi back on her feet. Vi’s curls were a wild tangle around her head, her face more flush than before as she finally set her feet on the ground and looked over the group. Her huffed breathing and the dim music — 2000s R&B that was our soundtrack for the night — filled the air before she threw her hands up. “Stuck the landing!”
“Yeah, thanks to me!” Imani huffed.
“But I still stuck it.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned and looked over the pile of books. Shuffling through the stack of romance books, and one thriller or maybe suspense with a dark-looking cover, I picked up a worn dark leather book. “Are we reading diaries tonight?”
Excitement overtook Vi again as she looked at the book in my hand. She shoved playfully past Imani, swatting her on the ass as she barrelled over the back of the sofa.
Alicia groaned as they collided, ignored by Vi as she snatched the book from my hands.
We all grinned.
Vi was the friend who rarely drank, but when she did, she became this untamed thing. She was on tabletops at bars, taking her shoes off to walk through the city, and upsetting the Uber drivers with her carpool karaoke. After being friends with her for over twenty years, we all just buckled in when Vi was drinking and accepted we were along for the ride.
“This!” She held the book above her head like it was a holy thing. “Is what we’re doing instead of the Ouija board.”
The proclamation immediately made Imani weary. Her brow cocked as she rested a hand on her hip. “What is it?”
She turned it over, running her hand over the worn leather. There was an engraving in the leather I couldn’t quite make out. A circle with something inside, so worn it was almost flush with the leather. “Some kind of witchy book. I bought it from a cute little vintage bookshop on Queen Street West. The lady was pretty spooky. Face tattoos and everything.”
“Witchy?” Imani’s brows shot up. “Girl! Didn’t we just talk about this?”
On her feet, Alicia pushed her locs over her shoulder.
Alicia’s dark locs had taken her years of upkeep and care. They were perfect and neat. As organized as she was with strategically placed gold bands around a seldom few that matched her thick gold hoop earrings. The rose colour she brushed over her lids matched the shade of the gloss on her lips, her deep brown skin just as flawless as Imani’s only a shade warmer. Her broad, thin shoulders were on display now. Her racerback tank leaving them bare.
“Why not? It’s this or watch Vi chase you around the kitchen again. Care for another spatula to the ass, Imani?” Alicia quipped.
A reluctant moan left Imani as she sank to her knees by the coffee table, still sitting over her wine stain even though Sarika had long sold her out. Sarika took a spot beside her. She crossed her legs, and grabbed her knees, swaying slightly.
Sarika almost never drank. On nights like these, when we all got together, she would have a special brownie or cookies or a gummy. She never had that stretch in her youth where you drank until you couldn’t remember your name. Swallowing down cheap beer and staying out until two in the morning. Her parents were strict. She had her first drink on her nineteenth birthday and quickly decided she didn’t like the taste of most alcohol.
Brownies, cookies, and other weed-laced confectioneries — she quite liked the taste of those.
