“Are you married?” Troy asked.

Monica had noticed that Grace didn’t wear a wedding band. In fact, multiple bejeweled rings of various metals adorned her long fingers—silver, gold, platinum—bearing diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other stones. Several chains hung around her neck, too.

“Never married,” Grace said. “I don’t believe any man can be faithful to one woman.”

Troy nearly choked on his drink. Monica thought it was an odd response, but she let it pass.

“Do you have other children?” Monica asked, and was almost frightened by the hope she heard in her voice.

Grace actually laughed. “Other children? Oh yes, dear. How can I put this without sounding improper? In my younger days, I guess you could say I was a baby factory.”

“How many children do you have?” Pat asked.

“Seven,” Grace said. She clasped Monica’s hand. “That includes my girl here.”

“Are you serious?” Monica felt her jaw unhinge. “I have six siblings?”

Grace was nodding. “Indeed, six sisters. All of them are grown now, of course, and quite spread out across the country.”

“You’ve had all girls?” Pat asked. “That’s really something.”

“I’d love to see them.” Monica shook her head, almost dizzy from the continuing stream of revelations. “My sisters—six of them. Wow.”

“They’d love to meet you, too,” Grace said. “Someday, perhaps we can arrange a family reunion.”

“I’d like that very much,” Monica said.

Monica started to ask another question, when her daughter, Lexi, decided she’d had enough of sitting at the table listening to boring grown folks’ chatter. Lexi hopped out of her chair and darted across the room. Her brother, Junior, continued to sit on his chair next to Troy, eating a piece of chicken. He was the quieter, more malleable of her two children.

But Lexi was, to put it mildly, a handful. Seven going on seventeen, as Troy liked to say. She was a daddy’s girl, with all the good and bad that came with it.

Troy noticed Lexi taking off. Eyebrows arched, he glanced at Monica, a question in his gaze.

“I can handle it,” she said.

Monica pushed out of her chair and hurried after Lexi. Her daughter had arrived at a serving table. She was reaching for one of the many pre-cut slices of chocolate cake that had been laid on plastic dessert plates.

“Hold on there, little girl,” Monica said. “You didn’t ask if you could have cake.”

Ignoring her, Lexi plucked a plate off the table.

“Put that back, sweetie,” Monica said. “Please.”

“But I love chocolate cake,” Lexi said. She whirled her finger across the frosting, put it in her mouth.

“You can have some after you finish dinner,” Monica said.

But Lexi took off running, cake in hand. Her braids, full of multi-colored beads, clattered in her wake.