Brock had had two dinners with Olivia since the first drama (yes, two, the bitch). This did not fill me with joy but luckily I was too exhausted to build up any emotion about it because that emotion would probably not have been pleasant and Brock came home from both dinners looking like he wanted to rip someone’s head off, so I needed to look after my man.

In other words, just like Elvira warned, Olivia was playing every game in the book, not listening to a word Brock said, and that situation had not gone away.

Though, that said, after dinner number two, Brock came home not only looking like he wanted to rip someone’s head off but also declaring, “That’s it, done with that shit,” which I suspected meant dinner number three would happen when hell froze over.

This was also part of the reason for “the talk” with his boys this weekend.

I had no clue what Damian was doing and Brock didn’t fill me in. I figured my man was honest enough with me that he would tell me if there was something I needed to know. So I kept my head down and did what he told me to do, focused on what I needed to be doing, and that was not lapsing into a coma.

So right then, due to pure habit, I was in my kitchen thinking for the first time in my life if I saw a cake I’d scream.

And thus I was also realizing that I hadn’t had a vacation in over a year and I was wondering, since Brock hadn’t been in his job too long, if he could get a week off and we could go to a beach somewhere.

When my mind skidded into this thought, it moved onto other thoughts of beaches, water, tropical drinks that tasted like liquid candy, and the fact that local fashion dictates would mean for the vast majority of time Brock would be in nothing but swim trunks.

This was what was pleasantly occupying my mind when a knock came at the door.

My pleasant thoughts evaporated, I looked at the door, and my first instinct was to run downstairs and hide in the guest room.

Another knock came and I heard Martha shout, “Tess! I know you’re in there because I can see your car and his new fancy-ass truck! Open up!”

Oh man.

Martha was on a tear.

I sucked in a breath, reconsidering the guest room and instead considering escaping out the back.

Then, because it was Martha, I walked to the door.

I opened it to see Martha plus Elvira as well as another black woman with tawny eyes and an enormous afro that had to have its own zip code and they were all accompanied by a woman who, at first glance, I would have sworn was Dolly Parton.