At this point Martha looked to the beauty parade of women around the table and shared, “She got hooked up with this guy… hot and when I say hot I mean—”she licked her finger and then sliced it through the air making a sizzle noise and went on—“smokin’ hot. But bad news.”

It was safe to say I didn’t want to talk about this at all but it was safer to say that I didn’t want to talk about this drinking clandestine cosmos on Ada’s picture-perfect back deck with a bunch of women I didn’t know during a very badly hosted baby shower I didn’t want to be at. But instead, I wanted to be home preparing for nine o’clock when Brock would be back and we would be talking.

Therefore, I started, “Martha—”

“No, girl,” Martha cut me off, lifting a hand in my face to which Elvira muttered, “Oh shit, this is serious. She’s givin’ the hand.”

Martha continued, dropping her hand and looking back at the bevy of beauties. “This guy had it all. The walk, the voice, the hair, the ass. Kid you not, I’d sell my soul just to run my fingers along his forearms.” She leaned in and semi-whispered, “He’s got these veins that pop out on his hands and forearms, freaking delicious.”

Oh jeez.

Totally paid attention.

“Mm-hmm, I hear you,” Elvira and Tracy muttered in unison, their eyes rapt on Martha’s face as were Gwen’s, but Camille was looking at me.

Martha went on. “But did he take her to his pad? No. Did she know where he worked? No. Did she meet any of his friends? No. Family? Unh-unh. Always her place or some dive. Never a nice meal. Never got dressed up and took my girl on the town. He met her friends. He showed up at her bakery. But for all she knows, he’s a lone wolf livin’ off his family’s inheritance and, from what I could tell, it wasn’t a generous one. If he called, she answered. She couldn’t and he left a message, she called straight back. He wanted to meet, she asked where and what time and then she was there.”

“Oh boy,” Gwen muttered, clearly disappointed I’d let down our side.

“You got that right. Oh boy,” Martha agreed. “Did she listen to me when I told her to play it cool? No. Did she listen to me when I said in four months you should see your man’s pad, at the very least meet a friend, just one? No. I get it. She was into this dude. Hell, Melissa Etheridge would be into this dude. He’s the walking, talking, breathing definition of a dude you… would… be… into. But a girl’s gotta play it cool and not put herself out there.”

I tried again. “Martha—”