Page 16 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

Tasha laughed.

“You’ll learn real quick that Nia doesn’t believe in asking permission,” Jade said.

“I believe in opportunities,” Nia added.

“That you create.”

“Exactly.”

Before long, I was walking with these women I had only just met.

Sidewalks curved through the neighborhood beneath big oak trees and blooming crepe myrtles. It seemed like every family had put their own mark on things, but the community still felt peaceful.

“Who designed all of this?” I asked.

“Black architect from Atlanta,” Jade answered. “The original developer wanted it to feel upscale without feeling… stuffy.”

“He nailed it,” Tasha added.

Nia pointed toward a stone building nestled near the center of the neighborhood.

“That’s our clubhouse.”

It looked more like a boutique hotel than your average community center.

Big windows looked out over the sunny pool. White lounge chairs circled the water, and large umbrellas made plenty of shade. Past the pool, there were two pickleball courts, a fitness studio with tall windows, and a covered pavilion with outdoor fireplaces.

“They have yoga every Tuesday,” Tasha said.

“And wine tastings once a month,” Jade added.

“And karaoke every Sunday.”

“Karaoke?” I asked.

Nia let out a loud, exaggerated groan.

“Please don’t let Tasha sing.”

“I can sing mam.”

“You can project.”

“I have passion.”

“You have volume.”

Listening to their argument made me laugh.

“This neighborhood sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” Jade deadpanned.

“You’ll gain at least ten pounds your first year.”

“Every weekend somebody’s grilling.”

“Every holiday turns into a block party.”