Me:I’m worried I’m gonna have to pull him off the road, and I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.
Beckett:That picture scared the hell out of me. I’ve got time tomorrow evening if y’all do.
Joel:Hey Sawyer, we haven’t seen you in a while. Why don’t we come to you?
Sawyer:Honestly, I could use some friend time.
Major:Same here.
Sawyer:Come to think of it, a new jazz club opened not too far from my place.
Sawyer:Queer-friendly, not loud.
Major:Sounds like a place for actual adults.
Sawyer:Imagine that.
Joel:Sold.
Joel:And maybe Oz will tell us all about his painful crush on Walker.
I walked into the restaurant space, ignoring my friends’ teasing responses as construction-grade plastic crinkled under my feet. Scowling at Joel, I held up my buzzing phone accusatorially.
Joel up-nodded with a huge grin. “Hey there, princess.”
“You jackass. Why would you out me like that?”
He snorted. “You cannot be outed from a glass closet, sweetheart. The only people who didn’t see what was going on between you and Walker were you and Walker. Besides, we’ve already discussed this at length behind your backs.”
“I hate all of you,” I grumped, even as I happily noticed the new flooring under the plastic. “Wait, when did this go in?”
“Wednesday evening. The tile came in early, and the tile guy was here to finalize the backsplash in the bathrooms. Figured he and his crew would knock it out.”
“Damn, Major’s recommendations have all been fantastic,” I said, toeing aside a swath of the plastic to admire the muted colors and curved geometric pattern of the old-world-style tiles my mother helped pick out.
“True. I think the contractor wanted to impress him.”
Major had set us up with a friend of his who was a world-class contractor, and I’d never seen someone keep a group of vendors in line better. I’m guessing that staying in Major’s good graces led to a ton of business for the guy.
“I’ll take it. Even if I still hate you all.”
“You can’t hate us. We’re bound by queer trauma and blood magic.”
I ignored him and stood in the middle of the restaurant, taking it all in. Rather than using Jamaican-themed decorations, I’d wanted to create an upscale version of the colors and decor of my granni’s home. We had not a single Jamaican flag or fruit motif in the joint, yet I felt the warmth of my mother’s birthplace.
Joel caught my eye and gestured toward the wall at the back of the restaurant. A color printout of the rainforest view from my grandmother’s back porch was taped to the middle, and light pencil traced along the wall followed the lines of the picture.
“Wait—Ginger already started on the mural?”
I’d always loved sitting on my grandmother’s back porch to watch the sun rise. I’d had a vague notion that I wanted a mural in the restaurant but had no clue what the style should be. Joel was on board with the idea and reminded me of the watercolor postcards Ginger had sent each of us for Christmas. We’d all assumed she’d chosen a lovely set of Texas landscapes from the local art studio and were shocked when Beckett told us she’d painted each one by hand.
She’d been nervous when we’d approached her about this project, but we’d convinced her to try. Ginger had reached out to her art instructor to learn how to transfer her skills to the mural format, then worked with Major to time everything.
“When does she start with the paint?”
“This weekend.” Still not done with his teasing, Joel tacked on, “Also, the rest of the LBs think you should just kiss Walker, tell him he’s queer, and get on with your lives.”
“I have to go next door and finish up the quarterly taxes,” I said, taking advantage of the fact that he still had no idea when quarterly taxes were due. “Hate you, bye.”
