Tears filled my eyes, but the emotional moment was interrupted when the server came to take our order. Keelan and I had barely looked at the menu, so she took our drink order to give us more time. When she returned with our drinks, we placed our order.
“So, can I go to Trey’s party?” Keelan asked again.
“Sure, but I’d like to meet his mom or dad first.”
“His mom picks him up from camp. Maybe you can meet her next week.”
“Do you know when the party is?”
“No, but I think it’s soon. He’s gonna give me an invitation.”
“Okay.”
The light in Keelan’s eyes had been dim, and I was happy to see a glimmer in them again. After lunch, we visited theBlack Elm Art Institute. It was Keelan’s favorite museum and where he liked to go most often. A few hours later, we stopped home to take Que out before going to my mother’s house. I turned into the driveway and parked behind my sister’s car.
“Hey, Nana. Hey, Auntie Mimi,” Keelan greeted after rushing inside, giving them hugs and kissing their cheeks.
“Hey, Grandson. What did you and your mom do today?” my mother, Rochelle, asked.
“We went to breakfast and to the art museum. Can I go watch TV?”
“Go ahead,” she told him, and he disappeared into the family room.
“You look cute,” my sister, Naomi, complimented as we exchanged a hug. I hugged my mother as well before joining them at the kitchen table.
“Thank you. What are you two up to?”
My mother managed an upscale boutique in Downtown Black Elm, and my sister worked for social services in a neighboring town as a case manager.
“Trying to figure out what to do for dinner,” my mother said.
“Keelan usually wants pizza on Fridays.”
“Pizza sounds good . . . or maybe Chinese. I have a taste for egg rolls and fried rice,” Naomi added.
“That sounds good. When are you ordering?”
“As soon as we decide. Who’s gonna pick it up?” Ma asked.
“I guess I’ll go since I’m blocking everyone in,” I volunteered.
The restaurant with the best Chinese food was old school and didn’t have an app. We had to call our order in and pay when we arrived to pick it up. After deciding what we wanted, my mother placed the order and was told it would be ready in an hour.
“Leave it to Black folks to open a Chinese fast-food restaurant, and the wait time is always an hour,” Ma said when she ended the call.
“You know how our people do. At least the food is worth the wait,” I said.
“True.” They agreed.
“I’ll send you the money to cover the bill,” Naomi offered.
“You don’t have to pay for my food,” Ma said as she dug a hundred-dollar bill from her purse. “As a matter of fact, I’m treating tonight. This is enough to cover it all, and you can keep the change.”
“Okay, money bags,” I teased. “Should we be thanking you or this new man you’ve been hiding from us?”
“New man? I plead the fifth,” she denied.
“Whatever, Ma. Thanks for dinner, but you don’t have to hide your man from us. I assure you, we don’t want him,” Naomi told her.
