After church, Brandy and I helped with a bake sale so her grandparents and Daniel could take off to prepare lunch. We arrived at Grandpa Thompson’s house a little before two. Brandy went to the backyard to help Jackson set up while I was content making my way through a house that felt like a second home. I lingered in the hallway just around the corner from the kitchen, where Daniel was covered in flour, side by side with his grandmother putting the finishing touches on a lemon chess pie. She was nearly a foot shorter than him, but she had no problem telling him how to do the job.
“Grandma,” he said in a laughing, singsong sort of way, “why don’t you sit down and rest and let me finish this, huh?”
“I just want to make sure it’s perfect.”
“We made it together, so…” He shrugged. “Can’t get more perfect than that.”
She laughed her sweet laugh. “Get the good napkins for me.”
“What’s all the fuss, though?”
“Aw, baby. You know Preeti is coming over.”
He rolled his eyes. “Things are different now. We’re not together, nor do we have plans to get back together. You know Dad wants me and Alisha—”
I winced at the thought.
She slapped his chest with the back of her hand. “Don’t you go bringing that innocent woman into this mess. What your father wants is one thing and what you want is a completely different thing.”
“If you’re implying I want Preeti—”
“You act as if we did not notice you constantly looking over your shoulder at her during the entire service. Baby, who are you trying to fool? Pining over her like that. Now go set the table for six.”
I pressed my lips together in amusement.
While she finished up with a pitcher of sweet iced tea and Grandpa Thompson piled a platter high with grilled vegetables, Daniel set the table.
I headed outside just as Daniel noticed me and ran to the sliding glass door, forcing me back inside and closing it behind him.
He scratched the back of his neck. “Hey.”
“Are you acknowledging me now?”
“I needed space. And you went to church and now you’re here.”
“Do you want me to leave?” I tugged on the hem of my cardigan.
He planted his hands on his hips and craned his head back, gaping at the ceiling in thought. He worked his jaw. “No.”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Yeah,” he responded quietly.
I touched his arm, my emotions less overwrought, clearer. He paused, looking at where my palm had landed on his forearm. “I know what I did was cowardly and not the best decision. I don’t ever expect you to forgive me, but I am truly, so profoundly sorry for all the pain I caused.”
“Are you that same person?” he asked through tight lips.
“I’d like to think I’ve grown since, become a stronger person.”
“How would you handle the situation now?”
I replied without having to think about it. I faced the opinions of outsiders all the time, and it was draining. In the end, no one wanted my happiness more than my parents and myself, and Daniel would feel the same if we were still together. In the end, no one could fortify my mentality except me. I had to choose to be happy and believe that my choices were right.
“I’d communicate,” I said simply. “Communicate with my parents, with you. Which means sitting down and working it out as a family. Communicate with the community, my aunts. Which means calling them out and ending their terror right away.”
“Hmm,” he grunted.
Daniel could’ve taken my words any number of ways in the consuming silence. Patronizing, pointless, agonizing, resentful, peaceful.
“Hurry up!” Brandy called from the backyard.
Jackson stood at the table and waved us over.
Daniel pulled his arm back so that my hand slid down his arm, wrist, and met his hand. His fingers slipped in between mine and gently squeezed. “Can’t ruin a family meal, can we?”
My words came out in flutters, tingling my lips. “Let’s be real. You were the only one who was going to ruin this lunch.”
“Ouch.” He flashed a fleeting smile, released my hand, and opened the door for me to step out first.
Grandpa Thompson planted his glass of tea near the head of the table with Grandma Thompson across from him. Beside him were Brandy and Jackson, while Daniel and I sat opposite them. The table was covered with butcher paper.
“Lunch is a little late and a little different today!” Grandpa Thompson announced as Jackson helped him empty a piping-hot pot of food onto the butcher paper. Crab legs, shrimp, sausage, corn on the cob, and potatoes, all smothered in red seasoning, poured out.
We applauded, because who didn’t get excited at a seafood boil?
We ate peaceably, mainly because I didn’t get pulled into the conversation and was too busy stuffing my face with this family-recipe seasoning. It was easy to sit back and enjoy the wave of joy that came from being with Brandy and her grandparents.
We could’ve been having these meals many times over with Daniel here, had we not split. By now, maybe he and I would have been married and having meals at our own house, starting new traditions.
Laughter filled the space like wind chimes and all the irritation, pain, and fighting faded away. In this bubble, nothing else mattered and we were like a family. No one was pissed at me or expected certain things from me. Daniel was at ease and enjoying his time, devoid of stress, cracking jokes.
Not once did I have to worry about him sitting too close and accidentally brushing against me, or which etiquette for my elders I’d overlooked, or dodging passive-aggressive remarks about my shortcomings. I’d only ever been this natural, this serene, with my parents and my girls. If it were possible to shove aside everything else, I’d keep to my small but mighty group.
Daniel told a story of trying to replicate his grandparents’ cooking in New York and setting off fire alarms and putting an entire apartment complex on edge. The way he exaggerated the amount of smoke in the air, all in his nose and clothes and hair, burnt offerings to the food gods, I had to cover my face to keep from laughing too hard. I nearly had tears in my eyes.
He let out a final laugh and leaned back in his seat, draping an arm around the back of my chair. For a moment, neither one of us realized what we looked like—sitting close, laughing, acting like a couple.
But the pleased glances and giddy expressions came. Mainly from Grandma Thompson. And the second she hummed, “Mm-hmm,” Daniel cleared his throat and retracted his arm.
Oh, boy. Even if his grandparents hadn’t already been on him for us to get back together, they would have been now.
Daniel rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, ready to get serious, exposing those muscular, sexy forearms. What was it about them?
I dunked crab into my bowl of melted butter with lemon and garlic, trying not to gawk at Daniel eating shrimp.
He deftly twisted off a head and drew out the juices. “What?” he mumbled.
“That’s disgusting.”
“No. It’s delicious.”
“Barbaric. It has eyes.”
“You’re not vegetarian. That crab had eyes, too.”
“But not on my plate staring back at me and questioning if I ever had a soul while I eat its face.”
“Sucking the head is the best part.”
I stared at him, stunned but grateful that no one else was listening to our conversation. They were too busy eating and talking about the sermon and bake sale.
My face turned hot, my skin flushed, and a pleasant sensation tingled between my legs at the thought of his words referring to anything except food. The way he watched me, so intense and imploring, as if luring me into naughty thoughts while butter and juices dripped down his wrist.
He smirked and leaned toward me. “At least I think so. Gets all the juices flowing, flavor burst in your mouth, tongue action as it hits your taste buds.”
I blew out a breath, refusing to show any effect he had on me. “You sound too into your shrimp. Maybe you need privacy.”
He sucked another shrimp head with a slurp. “Can’t wait for crawfish season. You might be open to, uh, trying head by then. Don’t discount it until you’ve had it.”
I clamped down a laugh, shooed out some immature thoughts, and gnawed on corn.
At the end of the meal, Grandma Thompson brought over a pie and set it in front of me. My eyes went big, taking in the sweet, luscious beauty.
She cut a slice for me first. “I know how much you love chess pie. I’ve been experimenting with chocolate and berries, but I think the lemon one tastes the best out of the variations. Try this, baby.”
I took one delightful bite before my eyelids fluttered closed. I chewed with reverence as bliss swam across my tongue.
“You want a moment alone?” Daniel asked.
“You hush. This pie is a life-changing experience.” To Grandma Thompson, I added, “Wow. That is pure perfection!”
Grandpa Thompson commented, “Didn’t I tell you that she’d love it? Speaking of lemon, we need to make that lemon cake with cream cheese frosting your organization bake sale was raving about last month.”
