“Isn’t this what all ofthis”—she waved her hands around, thankful their little portion of the waiting room was obscured by a faux fiddle-leaf plant—“ is for? We made a deal so that you would have someone for your parents to meet. Well, here I am, and it is perfect because then I can glean information for the vow renewal.”
Solomon sighed. She sensed him giving in but would wait to do a victory dance, er, fist pump.
“The thing is that I’m afraid that she wants to meet you to see what I mean to you.”
“But what is the problem with that? I mean, she should already assume I like you because I’m your girlfriend.” Kenya winked andfelt a little thrill when he finally cracked a smile again. Another thought made her chest and throat feel tight. “Are you afraid she won’t like me?”
Kenya hoped she kept the need from her voice. She was probably unsuccessful at controlling the pitch, the vulnerability at the end of that question. This wasn’t supposed to matter for real anyway. But it did. Oh, Lord, please help, because it did.
“I’m afraid she will be able to read you. And maybe not believe you.”
Ouch.
“I’m sorry, did I offend you?” His eyes widened.
Truth was, she didn’t know. The conflict was real. She wanted this to be believable, for this to work and for nothing to hinder her from what this could ultimately mean for her career. But to be believed meant to reveal herself in a way she didn’t know if she could handle. Because it would be real. And who would rescue her from that deep end when all of this was over?
She squared her shoulders. She had to keep moving forward. For her sake, for Dedra’s, for all the members of the community who didn’t need to live under the lackluster creativity of one Vance Cothrane.
“Doctor, you have nothing to worry about. Whatever your mom may think or try to do, I understand the assignment. I won’t let you down.”
Solomon nodded, but she couldn’t tell if it was relief or disappointment she saw in his face. But his inner world wasn’t what she needed to worry about right now. She’d wrestle her thoughts and feelings into submission in her own way. And she would prove to him that she could handle this.
SOLOMON SHOOKhis head. Every time his mother asked him to come help with something, what was supposed to take fiveminutes turned into an hour or two. She was aware of his schedule and limited free time, but somehow his time seemed to expand in her eyes. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have other children or the resources to hire extra help.
“Mommy, where do I need to place this again?”
Several minutes of holding this ridiculously heavy piece of equipment was making his arms ache.
“I am coming,” she called out from the upstairs loft. What was once a separate three-car garage had been converted into her design workshop. The wearers of her signature West African couture had no idea she brainstormed most of her ideas in the garage of her North Alabama home. It was her safe place and secret sauce, so much so that instead of hiring others to help move things around as needed, she enlisted a select few, including her oldest son. But this visit was more significant than others. She was ready to plant her business deeper into the city she called her true second home.
“You know you have another son, right? A son who is a lot stronger than me.”
“Yes, but he also is handling more of the business for now,” she called out. “And every time he helps, something ends up broken.”
Solomon could not deny that. His brother was able to run executive meetings and interface with investors, but he was careless with physical things. To him, anything broken could easily be replaced.
“Can you at least hurry back and tell me where you want this ancient sewing machine? I don’t even know why you still have it.”
“Because there’s no need to replace what is not broken.” His mother and brother were opposites.
“But you have two other newer ones. Why do you need this?” He sounded like a child and didn’t care at the moment because his arms were burning. He needed his arms for his patients. He exhaled a little, hearing her footsteps on the stairs.
“Did you come here to ask me questions or to help me?”
Solomon bit back his answer and gritted his teeth. His motherwalked into the garage, forgetting she still had an oven mitt in her back pocket. Of course she would be cooking something while they were doing this. Besides a half bathroom, the detached garage/warehouse had a miniature kitchen. She was probably cooking soup.
He sniffed. Or maybe a stew.
He sniffed some more. With goat meat.
“Am I going to stink by the time I leave?”
“That is why I cook it out here. And that is what showers are for. Now, are you going to put that sewing machine down, or will you stand there all day looking at me?”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled as she pointed to a thick table in the corner.
He maneuvered past two mannequins and a platform strategically placed in front of three full-length mirrors that she used when she measured her clients.
