“I was just about to, Mama,” Dad says, kissing her cheek. “Come and sit.”
She takes a long look at the pot. “What? No gumbo?”
“Not today,” Brittany tells her.
“Nothing makes a person feel better when your life’s been destroyed than rib-sticking gumbo,” she mutters.
“Mama,” Dad scolds.
And there it is. All the judgment will happen now. My stomach tightens. Whatever my family wants to throw at me, I can take it.
Nu-Nu shrugs. “What? We all saw what happened.” They shoot her big eyes, and she glances around until she spots me. “Well, shit. I didn’t expect you to be here, Coco.”
“Hey, Nu-Nu.”
“Come give me some sugar.”
The tension melts from me. Sugar. She wants a kiss, not to remind me of all my life’s wrong choices. What a relief.
I get up and kiss her, and then I make her a bowl of shrimp Creole and put it on the table. Sweet gulf shrimp lay in a sauce of tomatoes atop a bed of white rice. It’s amazing.
There’s an awkward silence for a couple of minutes before my grandmother says, “It would have been a beautiful wedding, lambicorn and all.”
For some reason that makes me laugh. I chuckle until my ribs hurt, and everyone joins in, the tension that Nu-Nu brought melting like butter in a hot pan.
“It was a beautiful venue,” I admit glumly. “The whole town looked great.” I take a bite of the shrimp and let the savory tomato sauce linger on my tongue for a moment before I chew and swallow it down. “When did Stone call you?”
“A few hours before,” Mom says. “He asked if it was okay. Your dad told him yes.”
All eyes swivel to Dad, who runs a hand down his beard. “What? I like the guy. He stood up for you and he stood up to us. Takes balls to do that.”
“Yeah, your dad thinks that boyfriend of yours has big balls,” Nu-Nu adds, laughing.
We all laugh, and when it dies down, and Mom says, “We liked him. Not because he’s a Maddox, but because of how he treated you. How he seemed kind and funny.”
“And because he got you to pick a new hiding place,” Brittany quips.
I frown. “You want us to keep the same spots. Every year. You tell us to.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Jet confirms. “What’s the fun in always hiding in the same place? The viewers want it to be different.”
“But I thought ...” I start the sentence but don’t finish it, because it occurs to me that perhaps what I thought the truth was isn’t what it actuallyis.
“You thought what?” my sister asks.
“I just thought you wanted us to hide in the same places.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t want that.”
How is it possible to have been so wrong? How could I have completely misunderstood the assignment? Because of my own prejudice? Because I assumed that’s who my sisterwas?
Had I ever even really listened to the instructions? Or did I simply make them up in my mind, allowing my own bitterness to take the lead?
All those years, I returned to the same spot, waiting to be found, just like I’ve been doing with my life.
