A shot rings out from outside, and Whitney, wineglass full of canned margarita, crosses over to the window, peeks out, and says, “Who brought that guy? Who is that?”
She turns back to face us, her expression as pinched as the tight white jeans that hug her athletic frame.
My mom looks up from the bowl of egg whites she’s whipped to stiff peaks. “That’s Stone Maddox. Coco brought him.”
Susan turns around from where she’s rinsing dishes. “Shut the front door. Coco, you brought Stone Maddox?”
My cheeks immediately heat. “Yeah, I guess I kind of did.”
“Stone Maddox fromtheMaddox family? They own hotels? Lots of them? They’re filthy rich?” Whitney asks.
Every pair of eyes is on me, and it’s not just my cheeks that are on fire now. It’s my entire body.
That’s when Mom says, “Don’t be silly. It’s not the Stone Maddox from that family. Coco doesn’t know them.”
You can hear a pin drop. Susan and Whitney exchange a look. So do my other two aunts, Michelle and Margie.
The door opens again, and in steps my grandmother, pushing inside the house with her cane. “What’s going on here? When’s that pig going to be ready?”
I stifle a giggle as Margie and Michelle walk over to help my grandma Annabelle. We call her Nu-Nu because back when she was born, she was the youngest, and so she was nicknamed New.Neweventually becameNu-Nu.
My grandmother has olive skin and a mass of hair dyed jet black. This old lady isn’t going into that good night gently, or anytime soon.
She’s from my dad’s side of the family and is straight out of Louisiana Creole country. She even has the Creole accent. Some things just stick with you your whole life.
Margie and Michelle escort her to a chair by the window. She peeks out and says in her thick accent, “Who’s that handsome man out there with the cute butt?”
Whitney swats her playfully. “That’s Stone Maddox. He’s Coco’s date.”
My eyes flare wide. “He’s not my—”
Mom sighs. “Your daughters seem to think Coco knows a billionaire. I tried to tell them otherwise.”
My grandmother slowly turns in her seat to me and says, “That’s real nice. You can tell by the way he walks—got money hips.”
Susan and Whitney roll their eyes in unison, and all gazes are on me again, waiting for an explanation. My mom shakes her head, tsking, mumbling about how that’s the most ridiculous statement she’s ever heard.
Part of me wants to shout that yes, I know the real Stone Maddox, and I’m worth more than potato salad and pickles, but the words die in my throat because I don’t think she’d hear me.
My grandmother watches my mom for a minute, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she squints at me. “You didn’t even give me no sugar.”
I laugh and wipe my pickle-juice-covered fingers on a towel before crossing over and kissing her on the cheek. That is whatsugaris to my grandmother—kisses, not an actual bowl of the sweetener. Though there’s a funny story from when I was a kid, when she asked me for sugar and I brought her a sugar bowl. That of course just made her laugh and pull me into a hug.
“You got my ring sized yet?” she asks with happiness dancing in her eyes.
“You meanmyring?”
“Shoot.” She dismisses me with a wave. “Already taking ownership. I like it.”
“Yes, I’m getting it sized now.”
She squeezes my hand as her eyes water from tears. “Your grandfather would’ve wanted you to have it.”
I pat her hand. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
“Of course.” Nu-Nu leans in. “Don’t tell nobody, but you’re my favorite granddaughter.”
“And you’re my favorite grandmother,” I reply, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
