Free I Almost Forgot About You by Terry McMillan

suffice it to say that curb appeal is crucial, because it’s the first thing a potential buyer sees. We’ll probably need to hire a landscape architect to spruce up the flower gardens and around the entire pool area. That should about do it.”
    “So again, how much and how long will all this take?”
    “Staging isn’t cheap, Georgia, if done right, but think of it as an investment you’ll recoup when you see how quickly your house sells and how close to the asking price you’ll probably get. I’m estimating somewhere between ten to fifteen thousand.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    He nods as if he’s afraid of me now.
    “And how long will it take?”
    “Again, it all depends on how much you let us do.”
    “Everything you just mentioned.”
    “Anywhere from two or three weeks, providing there are no delays, which almost always happens.”
    “But how am I supposed to live in here when all this is going on, or is that a dumb question?”
    “Well,” Percy says, “do you have a vacation home?”
    I would so like to slap him.
    “No.”
    “Well, with a staging of this magnitude, most of my clients either rent a temporary apartment, check into a hotel suite, or take a vacation!”
    Oh, fuck you, Percy!
    “Are you thinking about where you’d like to live?” he asks. I’m beginning to wonder if Amen is even at this party.
    “I’m not sure. Ideally, I’d love to live in New York, but it’s far too expensive.”
    “Who needs winter?” Percy says.
    “I’m tired of California,” I say, just to piss him off.
    “Everything a person could ever need is in California.”
    “That’s so not true, Percy.”
    “Look, I’m going to have to bid you adieu, as I’m running late for my next appointment. I’ll do my best to e-mail you the detailed breakdown by next week, as it takes time to figure all this out, and then you can let Amen know just how much you’re up for. Fair enough?”
    “Fair. Have a nice afternoon, and thank you, Percy.”
    Amen walks out behind him but stops on the top step. “And you’re absolutely certain you want to sell, Georgia?”
    “I’m positive, Amen. I told you, it’s too much house for one person.”
    “But what if you remarry?”
    I look at him like he’s just asked a ridiculous question.
    “Don’t ever give up on love, Georgia. Keep the faith.”
    He sounds like a talk-show host, but I know he’s being sincere, so I just say, “I have tons of faith.”
    —
    “Mom! We’re here!”
    Oh, hell.
    I’m in my closet, sweating, naked, and frustrated from not having found anything I would want to be seen in at yet another cerebral party that Wanda has talked me into going to tonight, when I hear the sound of little hooves galloping into my bedroom. Before I have a chance to put my robe on, I feel four eyes on me, and there, staring the day away, are two brown midgets in shock.
    “This is what you’re both going to look like one day,” I say while slithering into my terry-cloth robe and tying the sash tight. “But not if you exercise and use cocoa butter on your stretch marks.”
    Both of them start twirling their two thick braids.
    “What are stretch marks?” the one in pink-and-white polka-dot leggings and pink T-shirt asks.
    “They are marks that stretch, Scarlett!” Gabby says with authority. She’s dressed to kill in orange leggings and an orange-and-white striped T-shirt. She looks quite pleased with herself and punctuates her pronouncement by putting her hands on her nonexistent hips. Scarlett looks as if she always believes her sister.
    “Can Granny get a group hug?” I ask, and they run into me and pull on my robe and squeeze.
    “Hi! We love you, Granny!” they say simultaneously.
    “Hi there, girls! Granny loves you, too! Now let’s go find your mom,” I say, gently pushing them out of my closet, but when I try to take them by the hand, they shake loose and charge down the hallway. Little female puppies!
    Estelle is standing there in one of two