“Hey, T.” I ruffle the unruly strands on his head and smile at the almost eight-year-old. “How you been?”
“This place is so cool! Yesterday, we got to swim in the pool,and thenKen let me play in the game room!” He stands straight, beaming up at me. That’s probably the most action the game room has seen in years. I have no doubt Theron will be in there every day.
“Yeah? Maybe we can have a game day while you’re here.”
“Really? Like a brothers’ day?”
The pang of guilt hits me out of nowhere, and I glance away from his eager expression. Avoiding our mother the entire week has meant inadvertently avoiding him too. “Yeah, bro, the whole day. We can get pizza and whatever other snacks you want.”
“Well, that sounds fun.” I look up into the dark brown eyes of my mother as she smiles timidly. “Hi, Hunter.”
“Charlotte.” Setting my jaw, I glare back, watching the hope in her eyes fizzle into wounded disappointment.Good. It’s about time she felt some kind of remorse. Her straight black hair is shorter than I remember, hitting just above her shoulders as it frames her olive-toned face. Dad clears his throat, and I recognize the sound and his expression for the warning they are. I suck my teeth before turning back. “Hey, Mom.”
Ashlie appears at the top of the stairs, followed by a beaming Artemis. Shuffling across the diamond lattice tiled floor, Ash stands next to me, already snapping pictures on her phone.
“You look beautiful, Artie-girl,” Dad says as she reaches the bottom step. We all turn to Football Boy, who’s standing in front of her, catching flies with his gaping mouth.
Sidestepping, I bump his shoulder and whisper, “This is the part where you tell her how great she looks…”
Artemis takes a tentative step forward, but her heel catches on the hem of her dress. She lunges toward the floor, and all of us pitch forward to catch her. The football player reaches her first, dropping the corsage in the process.
“Are you okay?” he asks, brows pulling together while he holds on to her elbows. She nods, and he smiles. “You look so amazing.” He stoops to pick up the discarded flowers and secures them around her wrist.
If this isn’t the cutest little puke-inducing epitome of high school dances, I don’t know what is. I feel like I’m watching a preview for the newest coming-of-age movie.
“Home by eleven.” Dad smiles as he opens the door for them. The pair giggle as they hurry down the front steps. Dad waits, waving at them once they reach the car.
“That was adorable,” Ashlie squeals next to me. “He was so nervous! Were you that nervous for your first dance?”
“Naw. I don’t even remember who I took to my first dance.”
“Wooow.” She draws out the word dramatically. “Noncommittal even in your youth. That shouldn’t surprise me.”
“Isn’t that what your youth is supposed to be?”
With a slight head tilt, she scrunches her mouth to the side. “So what’s your excuse now?”
“I’m still young.” I smirk and toss her a wink before walking into the dining room for dinner.
Ornate mahogany beams arch across the ceiling and trim the cream-colored walls. A matching dining table is set in the middle of the room, with Dad’s baked ziti cooling in the center. He’s busy dishing up servings while we find our seats. Theron and I sit on one side, facing Ashlie and Mom, while we save the head of the table for Dad.
“Didn’t Artie look magical?” Ashlie asks as we dig into the food.
“That dress contrasted nicely against the dark summer tan she’s hanging on to. I just wish Artemis would have let me straighten her hair. It gets so wild when it’s curly, and I’d love to see how long it’s gotten.”
The room falls silent after Mom’s criticism. She constantly compares Artie and I to her French ancestry like procreating with a dark-skinned Black man wouldn’t produce Black-ass kids.
Ashlie purses her lips and glances at me. “I put so much product in there, I’d be surprised if any of her curls frizz by the time she makes it home. You’ll have to let me know.” She smiles sweetly, but that look in her eyes is anything but.
“Don’t get me wrong. You did a great job. I just wish she knew how much prettier she would be with her hair sleek and smooth instead of?—”
“Curly like mine?” That faux smile glitches so briefly I doubt anyone else caught it.
Mom has always had this weird complex about Artemis. Constantly commenting on the shade of her skin or her curl pattern. How polished she would look if she changed this or that. Ashlie’s defensiveness is in direct correlation to some of those harmful things Mom has said. Things that Ashlie has worked hard to eliminate from Artie’s psyche over the years.
“She doesn’t like to straighten her hair,” I say, scowling at Mom across the table. “You’d know that if you took the time to listen to her.”
Mom slowly meets my eyes, face flushing before she returns to her food. After a few minutes of silence, she tries again with a smile on her face. “Hunter, your dad was telling me you work from home now.”
