“What do you mean, ‘whatever’? Girl, this dress is so classy.”

“And then I see your outfit. This looks too plain.”

“Trust me, simple is always in style,” Liza said.

Chicho smiled at her feet. “You look . . . like, so freakin’ beautiful.”

Liza pressed the sides of her cream backless jumpsuit. The deep V in the front reached nearly to her navel and was generous to her average bosom.

“Girl, you ain’t seen nothing. Wait until you see Janae. She will make you sick.”

“Why do you always do that?” Chicho asked abruptly.

“What?”

“When someone calls you pretty, you deflect to your sister.”

“It’s ’cause she knows she ain’t,” Maurice shouted.

“Shut up, Reece!” She turned to Chicho. “I didn’t know I did that.”

“You do. Wait.” Chicho’s eyes had shifted to Maurice. “You wearing that trash bag to the gala?”

“It’s a sweat suit.”

“Ignore him, Chicho,” Liza said. “Light a candle for Janae. She’s waiting to hear if she got the interview for a big position in New York.”

Liza didn’t know what had gotten into Chicho lately. She was constantly talking about getting out of Merrytown. She played the lottery every day and actually read Colin’s book, Up from Nothing. It was like she was suddenly so dissatisfied with her life, and with Liza’s too. Chicho nodded lately whenever Bev chastised Liza about lipstick, bras, and men. Their friendship seemed to be cooling for reasons Liza couldn’t understand, and she didn’t know how to reverse course.

“Oh, I hope she gets it. She’s too sane to be cooped up with y’all for too much longer,” Chicho said, nodding at Maurice.

“And WIC is coming!” Liza squealed. “So light two candles.”

“I’m not praying to the saints so you can get a booty call.” Chicho crossed herself.

“Why not? I plan to be calling on the Lord all night.” Liza shimmied her shoulders.

Chicho pretended to be scandalized. “It’s so weird, though. He should have seen more of you by now. It’s not like Philly is so far. Why couldn’t he just pop over on the weekend?”

“Because he’s organizing. The weekends are the perfect time for that, and far be it from me to impede the movement.”

Bev slapped the door in impatience. “I want to look at this limo David sent for us!” Liza’s mom wore a skintight fuchsia dress with strategic cutouts in risky places. Even at fifty-five, she looked good. But just because she could do something didn’t mean she should. The reverend sidled up next to her. He wore what could only be called a zoot suit. With his broad padded shoulders and slim legs, he looked like a walking isosceles triangle.