Passion by the Book. Pamela Yaye

with concern. “You’ve never mentioned wanting to have plastic surgery before, so what’s really going on?”

      Simone fiddled with the napkins in the thin, gold holder. She’d cleaned up at the Neiman Marcus sale, scoring designer shoes and purses at fifty percent off, but she still felt miserable. Last week, she’d spent the entire lunch complaining about Marcus, but she’d promised herself she wouldn’t discuss the problems in her marriage today. A lot of exciting things were happening in Angela’s life, and she wanted to be supportive.

      “I don’t want to talk about it.”

      “Are you sure?”

      Simone hesitated. She didn’t want to burden Angela with her troubles, but if she didn’t tell someone about what happened last night, she was going to burst. “It’s Marcus...”

      “Oh, no, what did he do this time? Fall asleep during pillow talk or after making love?”

      “Ha, ha, you’re so funny. You should open for Steve Harvey on his next comedy tour.”

      “Don’t get mad.” Angela winked. “I’m just being honest. You want nonstop romance, and that’s just not realistic in this busy, fast-paced world we live in.”

      “Oh, shush. No one asked you.”

      Silence fell between them, but the dining room was alive with excitement and laughter.

      “You can’t expect Marcus to romance you 24/7, Simone. That stuff only happens on reality TV, and you’re not on The Bachelorette!”

      “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re single. You don’t understand what it’s like being married to a workaholic.”

      Angela put down her fork and studied her best friend. Simone always let her look reflect her mood, and her all-black ensemble suggested she had a serious case of the blahs. She’d pulled her hair back into a silver clip, wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup or her most prized possession—her big, glitzy wedding ring.

      “I better go check on the boys. Jordan thinks he’s a wrestler, and I don’t want him trashing the playroom like the last time we were here.”

      “Sit down. The boys are fine.” Angela reached out and squeezed Simone’s hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. Tell me what’s going on. I’m listening.”

      Simone told Angela about their argument and about what didn’t happen in the bedroom. “I tossed and turned for hours, and when I finally fell asleep I dreamt that we were in divorce court and that Judge Joe Brown was presiding over our case!” Simone shivered at the memory. “We were yelling and screaming and carrying on. It was ugly, girl. Real ugly. Worse than a Real Housewives reunion show!”

      “Don’t read too much into it. Marcus was probably tired and fell asleep in his office.”

      “Tired? Puh-leeze, what about me? I’m taking care of the kids and the house, without any help whatsoever from him, but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

      Angela started to speak, but when Simone glared at her, she swallowed her retort.

      “I just want Marcus to spend more time with me. Is that too much to ask?”

      Simone sighed, shifted around in her seat. Her gaze drifted to the playroom, and when she saw Jayden waving at her, she smiled and waved back. “Life was so much easier before Marcus opened his sixth gym. All he used to care about was making me happy and being a good father, and now all he cares about is tripling his net worth.”

      “Don’t be so hard on him. At least he’s not one of those lazy-can’t-keep-a-job-can-I-hold-a-fifty-until-payday-type brothers.”

      Simone cracked up. “Don’t worry, girl. You’ll find your Prince Charming soon.”

      “Please, I’ve kissed so many frogs I’ve given up hope of ever meeting Mr. Right. Hell, at this point I’d settle for Mr. Maybe or Mr. Gainfully Employed!”

      More shrieks and laughs.

      “Angela, I’m so glad you moved back home. Now I won’t feel so lonely.”

      “Lonely? What are you talking about? You have the boys, your family and tons of decorating projects to do around the house.”

      “I know, but I still get down sometimes.” Simone shoved her fork absently around her plate of lobster pasta. “And now that Jayden and Jordan are going to the Webber Academy for Boys three days a week, I’m really climbing the wall.”

      “You should take a class or get a part-time job. That way, you have your own thing going on and you’re not waiting around all day for Marcus to get home.”

      “I haven’t worked for years, and the thought of revising my résumé makes me queasy,” she confessed, her tone tinged with apprehension. “And to be honest, I don’t know if I could juggle being a mom, a wife and a social worker all at the same time.”

      “Don’t you miss working, though? No offense, but I never pegged you as a stay-at-home mom slash trophy wife type.”

      “That makes two of us. One day I’m getting ready to start my field experience at the teen clinic, and the next thing I know I’m pregnant with twins.”

      “I know, huh? It seems like just yesterday we were hitting the hottest clubs, staying out ’til dawn and dancing until our heels broke off, but it’s been almost eight years since we graduated from U of C.”

      “We were going to travel the world after graduation, remember?” Simone wore a sad, wistful smile. “What happened to all of our plans?”

      “You met Marcus and lost your ever-loving mind, that’s what!”

      “What can I say? My man has some serious game!”

      The women giggled.

      “But Marcus isn’t romantic anymore, and the last time we went out for dinner his stupid cell phone kept ringing. I just want to hang out with my husband without anyone interrupting us.”

      “Have you told him that?”

      “Only a million times,” Simone grumbled, gripping the stem of her cocktail glass. “His favorite song used to be ‘You’re My Everything’ and now it’s ‘My Prerogative.’ Gosh, I always hated that song, and Bobby Brown, too!”

      Angela laughed and dabbed at her mouth with a crisp, white napkin. “Every marriage goes through ups and downs, but that doesn’t mean you guys are headed for divorce court, Simone. Marcus loves you just the way you are, so no more plastic-surgery talk, okay?”

      Simone lowered her head and stared down at her French manicure. “I thought if I got a little work done he’d pay more attention to me.”

      “Getting a breast lift isn’t going to cure your marital problems.” Angela wore a soft smile, but her voice was stern. “Don’t go to the consultation, or mention it to the girls on Saturday night, either. You know Tameika. She’ll get loud and start talking crazy—”

      “Saturday? Do we have plans?”

      “My housewarming party’s at six-thirty, remember?”

      “With everything that’s been going on, it slipped my mind.”

      “No worries,” Angela said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You still have plenty of time to head to Nordstrom’s and buy one of the fabulous items on my gift registry.”

      “You created a gift registry for your housewarming party?”

      Angela grinned. “You bet your boots I did.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I don’t want my tacky relatives to buy me cheap dollar-store gifts!”

      Simone belted out a laugh. She’d never heard of anything so outrageous, but nothing her girlfriend did ever surprised