“If you want to make it out of this room alive, you will not finish that sentence,” Jamal whisper-yells.
The conversation turns to hockey, and that’s safe ground. No one roots against our team.
DeAndre announces dinner, and we gather around the table.
His cousin comes from the kitchen, and her eyes sweep the room while she says, “Where does the white boy food go?”
Jamal bangs his fist on the table, startling me. “We don’t talk that way in this house. His name is Theo, and he’s eating what we eat.”
I understand that she’s holding the special dish Kenya made for me, but Jamal’s anger on my behalf is addicting.
Pulling him into his seat, I whisper, “She only meant—”
“I don’t care what she meant. She needs to apologize.” He glares at her.
“Your mom said… It’s for… Special.” She can’t form a complete sentence.
I stand and round the table to take the dish from her. “It’s a recipe Kenya made for me. Hardly any flavoring for this white boy. But don’t worry, Jamal is introducing spice into my life.” I wink at him and love his flush.
“Alrighty, Keefer, we see you.” DeAndre’s brother points a roll at me.
I can’t hide my smile, and my stomach jumps for joy as I sit down next to Jamal.
They gave me a nickname. I wonder if he knows it’s what the hockey teams calls me or if it’s a coincidence.
“Sorry,” his cousin says sheepishly.
“No worries.” Nothing could ruin this day for me.
All the dishes are brought in and passed around. I fill my plate with a little of everything.
“Tyrone and Jada’s family are coming for dessert,” Jamal’s mom says.
Jamal shakes his head. “I’m going to Q Solutions before that.”
“Are you leaving us alone with the boyfriend?” Nevaeh cackles.
“I’m tutoring one of the kids to get his GED while Jamal serves dinner.” All eyes turn to me. “It’s a good thing there are answer keys. I got a college degree, but some of the questions are hard.”
“Don’t downplay it. If it weren’t for you, Juan David would probably be in jail.” Jamal nips my shoulder, and I don’t argue.
“I hear you’re moving,” Nevaeh says, after everyone starts eating.
Jamal has taken a huge bite, so I answer. “In a week and a half.”
“Deserting your friends already?” She raises an eyebrow.
“If you saw this place and the deal we’re getting, you’d ditch this entire family,” Jamal fires back after swallowing.
“Can’t be that good?” she huffs, stabbing her turkey with a fork.
“When you come visit, you can decide,” I offer.
“If it’s that great, maybe I’ll crash with you,” Nevaeh taunts.
“Sure. Only catch is you’ll have to fight Sarah for the spare room or sleep on the couch.” Jamal cuts her a sly look.
We offered Sarah a room, but she’s not ready to leave Boston.
