“I’m just waiting for you to say sike. You’re telling me you’re from one of the most diverse states in the United States and you’ve never had soul food?”
We were stopped at a light, and his eyebrows were practically touching his hairline—you would’ve thought I told him I believed Santa Claus was real.
“Are you always this dramatic, Parker Woods?” I asked, raising an eyebrow of my own.
He threw his head back and barked out a laugh. “I guess you’ll just have to get to know me some more and find out.”
We drove for another fifteen minutes before turning off onto a dirt road. There was a wooden signpost on the side of the road that read in navy blue and gold, “Odette’s Soul Food Kitchen.”
I was surprised to see an old Victorian house with a row of cars parked in front of it when we reached the end. There were string lights strung from the side of the house, illuminating a seating area equipped with wooden picnic tables. Lights were on throughout the house, and I could see people shuffling in and out, some with food and others with drinks.
Parker pulled into an open spot, and we exited the car. The sound of smooth Jazz filled the air between the chatter of the large lunch crowd. I followed Parker up the gravel pathway to the front door.
“As I live and breathe. Robert, tell me my eyes aren’t deceiving me. Is that the Woods’ boy in my doorway?” A woman bellowed out with the most southern twang I had heard since I arrived.
Parker’s large frame was blocking my view, so I couldn’t see where the voice came from.
“Mrs. Johnson, it’s so good to see you,” he responded as we stepped through the doorway.
Parker headed straight toward a short, older Black woman with her silver hair braided into a crown, wearing a blue polka-dot dress with a white apron tied around her waist. Her arms were open, ready to greet him. She was so small that her feet almost left the floor when Parker embraced her.
Mrs. Johnson used the hand towel from her apron pocket to flick it at Parker.
“I told you to follow your dreams, not to forget where you came from, boy.”
“I could never forget Oakland Ridge or you, ma’am. I want to introduce you to someone.” He said, angling his body towards me.
“Now, who is this gorgeous girl?” she said as she lowered her glasses from the top of her head and propped them on her face.
“Willow Norris, it’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” I said as I reached out my hand to shake hers. Mrs. Johnson surprised me by wrapping her arms around me instead, as if we were old friends.
“You too, sugar. I’m Mrs. Odette Johnson. I hope you both are hungry.”
Mrs. Johnson called out to a woman named Beverly, and another short Black woman, her hair tied up in a multicolored scarf, came out of a swinging door.
“Yes, Ma’am,” she said, holding a carafe of coffee.
“Please show my friends out to a table.”
Beverly ushered us outside and brought us to an open table in the middle of the area, handing us a set of menus.
I stare at the menu, looking over all the dishes. There are so many options to choose from: collard greens, chicken and dumplings, BBQ ribs. I wasn’t sure where to start. When Ilooked up, Parker wasn’t looking at the menu. He was staring at me.
“There’s a lot to choose from. What do you recommend?” He set his elbows on the table, leaning toward me with his dimples on display.
“Do you trust me?”
His tone was playful, but I couldn’t help but acknowledge that I was beginning to trust him. Maybe because I was left with no choice and I’d rather trust a stranger than watch my friends get hurt. Maybe it was the kindness I saw in his eyes. Whatever the case, I indulged him because it felt right.
“I do,” I said, holding his stare, his smile grew.
“Do you mind if I order for us? I figured we could get a few things, whatever we don’t finish, we can take back to the house.”
He looked excited at the chance to order for us, so I decided to give him free rein.
“That sounds like a great idea. Everything looks really good. I don’t think I could decide.”
Parker turned around and signaled to Beverly, who was leaving another table.
