“Ms. Earline put it down today.” I tried to lighten the tension in the room.
“That she did son.” My father finally spoke. “Dreu,” he said firmly.
His eyes cut over towards my twenty-four-year-old brother. We still weren’t on talking terms and I was fine with that. Dreu was reckless, spoiled, and the kind of man who thought being a Langston meant the world owed him something. Today he rocked designer streetwear, his gold chain with a heavy money diamond medallion hung low on his chest. He looked up from his phone and offered our father a smug look.
I wonder if they dug in his ass about his name being plastered across every gossip blog page for getting into a fight outside of the club last week.
“You greet your big brother with respect when he’s present.” My father pressed him.
“He ain’t greet me, nigga still got a stick up in his ass over some old shit!” Dreu spat out.
“Watch your mouth at my table, Dreu.” My mother scalded him like the kid he acted like.
“My bad, Ma. I’m not kissing Bleu ass.” He said.
“No need to, I’m pretty sure you got to do enough of that with Mr. Jackson.” I shrugged, picking up a glass of red wine that was as bitter as the look on Dreu face.
“That retainer for Charles Jackson went up, Dreu.” My father added with a tight look on his face.
I chuckled before picking up the big glass bowl of candied yams. Everything sitting in the middle of the table looked damn good. I eyed the mac and cheese, greens, fried chicken, and corn bread excitedly. I loved Ms. Earline’s food.
“I’m good, I ain’t got to kiss nobody ass. I don’t even know why you worried about what the fuck?—”
“Language!” My mom snapped.
She finally set her phone down just as I picked up three pieces of chicken, it was so hot it burned the tips of my fingers as I quickly placed it on my plate. I shook my hand roughly then picked up the glass bowl of greens.
“This is our Sunday dinner; it’s for family to come together and spend quality time.” She lowered her tone.
“Baby, you’re right.” My father set his glass of cognac down. “Charles is just going to have to prove that Dreu is innocent in that big brawl outside of the club.” My father’s frown deepened as he looked at my mother with contempt.
“All of the money that he’s getting, he better prove something. I will say, I’m getting sick of your stupid immature shit, Dreu! The Langston’s last name will not be stained because you want to act like an uhh…” My father’s words trailed off, he squinted his eyes over at me then asked what we called young thugs now.
I swallowed my food and smirked over at Dreu’s dumb ass.
“He’s acting like a YN, dad.” I finished his sentence.
My mother slammed her hand against the table and pointed her long-curved nail in his direction.
“Lawyers don’t actually need to prove someone’s innocence. Their job is to make sure the prosecution can’t prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt! Even if the evidence looks bad, a good defense lawyer that’s getting paid the amount that Mr. Jackson is getting will pick shit apart. He will argue that whatever videos the club has could have been edited or even taken out of context. Eyewitnesses misremember things, and internet clips aren’t reliable enough for court. Drop this topic now! We will not be teaming up on my son.” She spat angrily.
“Thanks Mommy.” Dreu murmured pathetically.
Titty sucking bitch!I thought. Dreu didn’t bother looking my way. He picked his phone up and continued to entertain that as I avoided my mom’s gaze. It wasn’t surprising that this conversation would end up leading to me like it always did. They never put enough pressure on Dreu and that was one of the main reasons why he acted out the way that he did.
“Publicity’s still publicity. Doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, I think it’ll make my new rap career look fire. I don’t need them viewing me as some golden spoon boy.” Dreu continued his bullshit as he pecked away at his phone.
“You’ve always been good at public disasters.” I couldn’t help the smirk that crept on my face.
He shot me a glare, then cracked his neck from left to right.
“Not everyone hides behind suits and fake smiles, freaked out Bleu.” Dreu said.
I leaned back in my seat; I took another sip of red wine and let it sit on my tongue for a while. I enjoyed the smooth expensive taste before swallowing it down.
“No, you just hide behind our parent’s money. You still on your mommy’s nipple, are you not full yet from breast milk, baby boy?” I asked.
“Enough.” Our father cut in, “Both of you.” His voice went deep, edged with command.
