“Don’t push it. We’re not friends.”
“Yet.” She smiles and points at the sports-bar sign. “Pick your poison.”
Victoria and I,friends? Then again, I’ve never pictured a world where we’re working together either, but here we are. Anything’s possible at this point. I grab my carry-on handle and offer a grin in return. “Whatever you’re having is fine. Just no mojitos.”
CHAPTER 29
CAROLINE
Per the textmessages from Dad, I’ve missed one too many family Sunday brunches. “Family” meaning “half the neighborhood crowded in front of the TV watching the latest queer reality show.” In an effort to avoid having my social battery drained more than it already is from client updates, I’m here early and will leave before people start coming over. I know better than to show up late, having experienced three seasons of British baking shows, sports, and crime TV.
Sitting in the driveaway, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and admire the new paint on the exterior. Of all the houses that I lived in growing up, this bungalow is by far my favorite. The plant-green color against the white shutters adds a pop of the same vibrancy that the neighborhood already radiates. Although the previous gray color was less than five years old, the local teachers’ painting crew offered a deal last summer and, based on the color selection, I have no doubt James sweet-talked Dad into that.
I reach into the front pocket of my bag to retrieve my phone, and a paper falls to the floor. When I pick it up and flip it over, my heart sinks. The photo-booth strip of Basil and me. Chewing my bottom lip, I run my thumb over the glossy finish. My favorite is the bottom picture, where I’m utterly smitten, smiling at her as she’s smiling at the camera.
For a moment, I let myself get swept away in the nostalgia of us giggling while holding hands, the timer counting down and us sneaking in kisses before each flash. I’ll never forget the effect of her whispered words against my skin or the feather she taunted me with inside that photo booth. Or the sounds she made when my hand slipped underneath her dress.
Even though Basil is the person I fell the hardest for, I know there’s no use in trying to get her back. Her life was crafted by her mother, and clearly, my name wasn’t meant to be in the final drawing. I should move on. She probably already has.
When I catch James’s head poking through the curtains, I return the photo strip to my bag and tighten my coat to shield my neck from the chilling wind. Winters like this are making it difficult to stay in Seattle. Time to go inside.
The smell of melted cheese, rotisserie chicken, and hot sauce draws me toward the kitchen—and the homemade buffalo chicken dip, a reminder that home-cooked dishes still still exist despite my empty refrigerator.
I smile at a picture hanging in the hallway—the four of us at the lake a year before mom passed. Despite the judgemental people we’d encounter from time to time, I had a great childhood with a mother and two fathers. Out Black polyamorous families weren’t a thing back then—not near us, anyway. But we were happy—always laughing about something and safe. I’ll never forget the overwhelming teamwork from both my dads when mom’s car accident. Fuck drunk drivers. I get my eyes from my mom, my height from my dad, and my stubbornness from James. Turning the corner, I find James—wearing his favorite apron,Fat, Black and Happyhugging his belly, chopping celery, while Dad is organizing appetizers on the table. I watch them work as a team, seamlessly weaving around one another in the quaint kitchen.
Dad looks behind himself and his warm smile eases my mind. He drops the oven mitt onto the counter and pulls me into a bear hug, a stick of carrot dangling from his mouth. “Good to see you.”
I feel another set of arms around us. A “King hug,” we call it. “We’ve missed you so much,andyou’re just in time to help me finish cutting these carrots,” James says as we separate, then gives Dad the eye. “Darrel keeps inviting more and more people, like we live in a mansion and have the budget to feed every queer in the city.”
I laugh and set up another cutting board station next to James. Dad used to avoid gatherings like this, let alone host them. He really has changed since his military days.
“So…” James wastes no time being his typical nosy self. Meanwhile, Dad leaves to finish adding chairs near the TV. James does his signature dance before strategically inquiring about my love life. “How was the vacation?”
I continue chopping, strategizing short responses since the trip was work-related and also none of his business. “Not a vacation. I had to work. It went.”
“Did you do anything fun?
“A few things.”
“Meet anyone interesting?” I can feel his laser stare on me. “Say…a woman?”
Like clockwork. You’d think he was the private investigator in the family. I know he won’t drop the topic unless I give him something. Or worse, he’ll rope Dad into this, and I’ll be outnumbered. “I met someone, but it didn’t work out. Bad timing.”
“Oh.” He transfers his pile of cut carrots to the service platter.
Just when I think I won, he asks, “Did you…you know?” He forms scissor motions with his fingers and crosses them.
“James!” My cheeks ignite. I fail miserably to hide my smile before looking away. Admitting defeat, I crack up laughing. We’ve always had the type of relationship that most people wish they had with their parents, but sometimes it’s a bit much. “You’re worse than Kaydence.”
“What?” He teases. “Clarifying questions are necessary. Do I look like an expert on the topic?”
I tilt my head and lower my voice. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
The alto in his voice echoes as he laughs. “I’m not proud of everything that happened during my college years. Obviously you need to see her again. You’re all wound up.”
I playfully throw a top piece of carrot and giggle when it hits his shoulder. Taking a side step, I dodge the one catapulted in my direction.
“Okay. Okay. Last question: where is she from and was it serious?”
