Jasmine’s parents lived in a nice-sized stone home in a quiet Queens suburb. They had a small but well-kept lawn with trimmed rose bushes out front. I’d kept my outfit simple—a black V-neck sweater and ash colored slacks. Jasmine wore a fitted burgundy sweater dress, and her freshly braided hair was up in a bun.
Jasmine used her key to let us in. The second we stepped inside, the smell of dinner hit us— her mother was clearly throwing down in the kitchen. Oldies R&B drifted from deeper in the house.
“Mama!” Jas called as she kicked off her boots. I lingered in the entryway, glancing around the cozy space. The walls were lined with family photos, childhood pictures of Jasmine, and colorful art prints. Two antique-style sofas faced each other, with an ornate glass coffee table in the center.
A loud clatter followed by a squeal of laughter came from down the hall. A moment later, Jasmine reappeared with a petite woman a few shades darker than her—the same woman I'd seen in photos and on FaceTime calls. She had Jasmine’s high cheekbones, and her salt-and-pepper curly hair was cut low.
“Mommy, this is Cash,” Jasmine said, glancing nervously between us. “Cash, my mom.”
“It’s so nice to meet you in person, finally, Mrs. Miller,” I said. I stepped forward and offered her my hand.
“Boy!” Mrs. Miller swatted my hand away and pulled me into a warm hug instead. “And please, call me Vera.”
I handed her a gift bag. “Yes, ma’am,” I smiled.
“Oh, and he’s a real southern gentleman,” Vera teased as she peeked inside.
“Georgia born and raised,” I replied. “My mama would’ve cussed me out if I showed up empty-handed.”
Vera’s eyebrows shot up as she pulled out the bottle. “Dom Perignon?” She looked at Jasmine and started toward the kitchen. “I think I like this one, Jazzy Bear.”
Jasmine’s head whipped toward me. “You got a bottle of Dom?” she hissed under her breath.
I shrugged. “You wanted them to like me, right?” I might be a little rough around the edges, but Sydney didn’t raise no damn heathen.
All the counter space in the kitchen was full of food. There was roast chicken, a pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, and macaroni and cheese.
“Mama, why’d you cook all this food?” Jasmine asked. “It’s just the four of us.”
“The spirit of cooking took over this morning,” Vera said. “Besides, leftovers mean I don’t have to cook for at least two days.” She picked up the serving dish with mashed potatoes. “Your father’s having a cigar in the basement. I told him not to come up here smelling like smoke, but you know how he is.”
“You want me to get him?” Jasmine asked.
“He’ll come up when he’s ready.” Vera pulled out a chair. “Come sit, I want to hear all about how y’all got together.”
Jasmine and I exchanged a glance. We’d already figured out the family-friendly version of our story to give to her parents that left out the kidnapping and all the shit with Marcus. We sat and joked about how we first met. Jasmine told Vera the story of me showing up on her date with Ahmad—or whatever that nigga’s name was—conveniently skipping the part where I pistol-whipped him.
A throat cleared in the doorway. I looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray streaks in his tapered fade. His tawny complexion matched Jasmine’s, and his solid build made it clear he could handle himself if needed.
“Daddy!” Jasmine shot out of her seat and wrapped him in a hug. It was clear my woman was a daddy’s girl, and there was no mistaking the love in his eyes for his daughter.
“Hey, Jazzy Bear,” he said with a soft smile.
Jasmine pulled back, still smiling, and turned to me. “Daddy, this is Cash. Cash, my dad.”
I stood and met his gaze head-on as I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller.”
“Reg, ” he said. He gripped my hand with enough pressure to make a point. It was a challenge, but I didn’t flinch, keeping the polite smile plastered on my face.
Vera stood from her seat. “Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s eat. Reg, grab that bottle of wine out the fridge.”
Reg gave me one last look before he headed toward the kitchen. Jasmine’s hand grazed mine under the table.
“This isn’t so bad, is it?” I leaned in slightly.
She squeezed my fingers. “You’re doing fine.”
Reg came back with an open bottle of red wine in hand and took his seat at the head of the table. Vera followed behind him, setting a big bowl of salad beside the other dishes. After Reg gave a short blessing over the food, we started passing everything around and filling our plates.
