“Sky, relax. She’s gonna love you.”
“She’s gonna think you picked me up from a street corner!”
He laughed at me, to my face.
Reaching over, I got a good handful of his beard and tugged. “I swear I’m biting a chunk out of your face today!” We struggled trying to get close enough to do it; he barely could restrain me. He was laughing so hard.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I jumped, a small scream catching in my throat.
I looked back and there was a lady—I assumed his momma. She had Zio’s dark skin and was very pretty, with salt-and-pepper hair down her back. She was dressed in a simple Whitney shirt and tights, her face was pressed almost comically close to the glass, a dish towel was in her hand. Her eyes—Zio’s eyes—took me in with one swift sweep, from my fresh blowout to the dangerous amount of thigh my dress revealed.
She tapped the window with a knuckle like we couldn’t see her.
“Boy, unlock this door,” she commanded, her voice muffled but clear. “And you,” she said, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me, “get out the car. Let me see my future daughter-in-law.”
Zio hit the unlock button with a sigh.
The door was wrenched open from the outside before I could move. Mrs. Brenda stood back, arms crossed, waiting. There was no escape. I climbed out, my heels hitting the concrete hard. I felt utterly exposed but tried not to cover myself to make it obvious.
“Hmm,” she said after a long, silent moment. She reached out and pinched the flesh on my hip. “Got these wide hips; my grandchildren gonna be big.”
I gasped and choked on my own spit. Who said I was having somebody big head ass baby?
Zio was laughing—actually laughing at my pain—as he rounded the truck to grab me.
His momma chuckled. “The food is getting cold and you’re out here having a fit. Come on.”
I stood there, rooted, until Zio slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. “Breathe,” he whispered into my hair. “The hard part’s over.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I whispered back.
Inside the house was a sea of Black people. I’m talking aunties in church hats, cousins with sagging pants and tight clothes, and uncles who smelled like Old Spice and cigars. Collard greens, fried chicken, and loud laughter were in the air. Somebody wassinging along with Sam Cooke’s “Lost and Looking’” like the house wasn’t full of people.
I was introduced to what felt like everybody.
“Auntie Clara, this is Sky. My girl.”
“Cousin Marcus, this is Sky, my woman.”
“Cousin, Tasha—this Sky, my wife.”
“Try this, baby,” an uncle came out of nowhere, winking. “It’s the good stuff.”
Some dark liquor that was probably too potent for me was pressed into my hand in a red cup. I drank it. Someone took my empty cup and replaced it before I could protest. Then, I lost Zio.
One minute his hand was on the small of my back; the next, he was pulled away by somebody who wanted to talk restaurant business. I tried to follow him but got lost. One cousin handed me a blunt and talked about Zio as a kid.
I don’t know how much time passed, but by the time it did, I wasn’t okay. The brown liquor, weed and the heat of so many bodies made the room tilt. I needed air. I followed the sound of a sliding door and stumbled out onto a large, shaded patio.
There was a grill about tens yards away in the big backyard. I headed in that direction to at least get a rib and a piece of bread to soak up some of the alcohol and let the cool air calm my nerves.
I was halfway there when I saw Zio standing near the fence, his back to me. There was a woman dressed in her Sunday best—a tasteful floral wrap dress, expensive heels, and hair in perfect curls.
I looked down at myself.
My lace slip dress was hiked up, my thighs were sticky with sweat, and I could smell the Hennessy and weed coming off myown skin. I felt like the girl you fuck on a Tuesday night, not the one you bring home to a brick ranch with hydrangeas.
