She gave herself two minutes.
Two minutes leaning over the bathroom sink, cold water running over her wrists, looking at herself in the mirror with an expression she couldn’t quite name.
Not shame. More like well then.
The particular look of a woman who had just been thoroughly reminded that her body was still very much in business.
She patted her face dry.
Straightened her silk pajama set back into place. Took one long breath.
Then she opened the bathroom door and Loretta was standing there.
“Oh shit, Loretta what the hell.” Celestine said in shock.
“It sounded like I heard someone scream from down here.
Celestine looked around and said nobody down here but me.
Loretta gave a suspicious look “Okay, I could be wrong but it did sound like somebody screamed.
They both walked back to the party.
She could hear the all the noise walking towards the backyard.
The second she turned the corner and came around the side of the house.
The noise hit her instantly with the volume was on full blast from the music all the laughter and somebody near the fence in what appeared to be a heated argument over an egg that had allegedly been found by two people at the same time.
Celestine fanned herself with the paper towel she brought with her from the bathroom.
Moving through the crowd slow, dabbing lightly at her forehead, her neck, the back of her hand.
The afternoon air felt thicker than it had an hour ago.
Or maybe that was just her.
She opened her mouth.
“Don’t,” Celestine said.
Loretta closed it. Then opened it again. “You sweating, Cele.”
“It’s Easter. It’s warm.”
“It’s sixty-eight degrees.” “Loretta.”
She gave her one look — the look she had been given that had been Loretta since 1987 — and kept walking.
She found her way to the center of the yard, fanning slow, and raising her voice just enough for everyone to hear.
“Who won?” she shouted out.
The crowd shifted and her nephew Darius came forward holding up the gold egg with both hands raised above his head with a big smile on his face.
“Say it,” he said.
Celestine sighed. “Darius.”
“Say it, Grandma Cele.”
“You found the golden egg,” she said flatly.
He hollered. Did a full spin.
His boy Marcus gave him a fist bump and two of the cousins and everyone else groaned loud because they had been near that section of the yard and felt personally robbed.
Celestine managed a smile and started fanning herself again.
Four hundred dollars.
Gone to Darius.
She glanced toward the house.
By the time the sun started fading westward and the food had been demolished and the had shifted the to a slower more relaxing mood, the crowd began its natural sorting.
Most folks gathered their things easy — packed up the eggs they found, their mini Hennessys, their edible private parts candy into bags and pockets, exchanged hugs, made promises to do it again next year, flew out through the gate and down the gravel drive in twos and threes.
What remained was the inner circle.
Ten people.
The ones who knew what phase two meant when it was printed in small italics at the bottom of the invitation.
The ones who had made arrangements. Whose children were at their fathers’ or the mother’s houses or with grandparents tonight and who had come prepared to stay.
The Sexy Party portion of the evening.
Celestine had set up the living room earlier in the week — low lighting, candles, a romantic playlist, a card table with a different set of supplies.
Adult games.
Couple-friendly activities.
Everyone moved comfortably.
Kicking off shoes at the door, settling into the sectional, the armchairs, the big floor cushions she’d pulled from the closet.
Celestine was counting heads.
Doing it again.
Once more.
She turned to Renee’s friend Kandi who was nearest to her.
“Did you see that man from earlier? Tall, grey sweats, came in from the side fence?”
Kandi tilted her head. “What man?”
“Isaiah. He was helping me bring the food out.”
Kandi looked at the others.
Renee looked up from her phone. “Mama who?”
“The man. Isaiah. He was here — he was in the kitchen with me, Renee, he carried the cooler—”
“Mama.” Renee put her phone down slowly.
“I didn’t see any man helping you.”
“He came in through the side gate, he had on grey—”
“Cele.” Loretta, from the armchair, wine glass balanced on her knee, too comfortable.
“Baby. You been acting strange all evening since the hallway. How many of those red cups did you have today?”
A beat of silence moved through the room.
Then somebody laughed. Then somebody else.
Then the whole room was in it —and somebody said “Cele out here manifesting men now” and somebody else said “that’s what the Henny eggs’ll do to you”.
Celestine stood in the middle of her living room.
Fanning herself with the same paper towel.
Saying nothing.
Because she knew what she knew.
She knew the weight of a hand on her wrist in a dim hallway.
She knew the warmth of a mouth that moved across her body.
She knew the way her own reflection had looked back at her above that sink — alive and awake in a way she hadn’t been in years.
Isaiah had been real.
She was certain of it.
Almost.
She tucked the paper towel into her pocket and picked up her cup.
“Start the first game,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She walked to the back to the quiet side of the house.
Down the hallway reminiscing on her way to the bathroom.
Pushed the door open and reached for the light.
She sat on the edge of the sink — sitting there until she caught a chill that flowed all through her.
Then she smiled. Stood up cleaned herself off.
U-turned and looked at herself in the mirror straightened out a few wrinkles in her silk lingerie.
Then went back out to hosting her adult party.