The clang of silverware against a glass drew my attention away from Juke and toward the center of the room, where Bryson stood at the head of the table. He announced dinner and, soon, everyone took their seats. I glanced back at Juke and shrugged before I rounded the table to my chair.
Dinner lasted longer than I thought it would because the entire time I was focused on Juke. While Grandpa Will said grace, my mind was stuck on Juke instead of the Lord. During the first course, I’d caught him staring at me as he poured gravy on his mashed potatoes. The fried chicken was slappin’, but I couldn’t concentrate on the goodness of my crispy, perfectly-seasoned wing because I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
Now, with pies being passed, cakes being sliced, and coffee being poured, I had no appetite for sweets. I just wanted to be alone with him.
“Juke brought his famous winter cider,” Brooklyn announced as she carried out a pot from the kitchen. “It will go nicely with that pound cake Anny made.”
Anny glanced at Juke. “Thanks for bringing it, Juke. I love your warm cider.” The older woman grinned. “I heard you got knocked upside the head with a bottle last night.”
Kennedi choked. Patting her chest hard, she said, “Anny, where did you get that from?”
Grandma Dee chimed in. “Wait a minute, someone told me Laura threw a plate of vegetables at you and splashed a pitcher of water in your face.”
The room erupted in laughter. And I joined them, cracking up when Grandpa Will admitted that he’d heard Laura had slapped Juke’s hat off his head before she tipped over a table and tossed a bunch of napkins in the air.
Everyone was laughing now, even Juke.
Finally, Juke said, “I didn’t even have on a hat. There were no slaps, no hitting upside the head, and no drinks in my face.”
Anny waved him off. “Oh, baby. You know how people like to talk. We’re not worried about no Laura.” She took a sip of her drink. “’Bout time you kicked that trifling heffa out.”
“I’m glad you said it, Ann,” Grandma Dee agreed. “I never did like that girl. She always seemed fake.”
Laughter filled the room again, then the conversation shifted to other stuff. After a while, Juke poured two glasses of cider, then he stood and motioned with his head for me to follow him.
There were so many rooms in Bryson and Jordan’s house, but the sunroom was my favorite. When we entered the quiet space, I made a beeline for the sofa in front of the fireplace, my spot.
Before I bought my condo, I’d spent a lot of time here and enjoyed the sanctuary they’d created. With stunning views of the Grand River, I loved to just sit and watch the beauty that was Wellspring. In the summer, I’d open all the windows and let the breeze flow through the room. In the winter, I’d turn on the fireplace and curl up with a book and a soft blanket. It was my little slice of Heaven on Earth.
I’d always considered myself to be a city person. Actually, I hated the idea of small town living—until I met my siblings, until I visited this town. Now, I couldn’t imagine calling anywhere else home. The scenery and the community were a bonus, but the peace I’d always felt here had made my decision easy.
Seconds later, Juke handed me a glass of the warm cider. “What’s on your mind?” He sat down next to me, shifting to face me. “Are you okay? You seem sad.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Just thinking about everything.” Staring at the fire, I continued, “Sometimes I wonder how my life would have been different if I’d spent summers here, if I’d been able to come to one Memorial Day party or Juneteenth celebration. I think about what Christmas would have been like with my brothers and sister. Then, I think about how lonely I was at home.”
In that moment, I was acutely aware of him. He didn’t speak, but I felt his eyes on me, his scent surrounding me, the heat of his body against mine.
“I’ve heard all the stories about Senior.” I turned to him. “Everyone tells me I’m better off. But I can’t help but think it might have been worth the dance with the devil to have the joy of family, of siblings that I could’ve argued with or competed against or confided in.” Shrugging, I added, “Even if it was only once a year.”
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I was here with them. I’ve seen more than I ever wanted to. And trust me, youwerebetter off. It wasn’t pretty.”
“I know. My heart breaks for Bryson sometimes because I still see him struggle with things that Senior did to him. I ache for Parker when someone compares his business acumen to our father. And I cry for Brooklyn when she’s torn between mourning him and hating him for everything he’s done.”
“Maybe that’s it, then,” he suggested. “Maybe what you’re feeling is empathy or simply wanting to take the pain away from them. Or maybe it’s that protective instinct that I have.”
“I definitely feel that.”
“That’s normal. When my granny was alive, I wanted to protect her from the cancer. I wanted to take the treatments for her. It’s hard to see someone you love hurting.”
I reached out and rubbed his cheek. “It is.”
Closing his eyes, he leaned into my hand. “Thanks,” he whispered. “Can I ask you a question?”
The conversation had taken a heavy turn and I wasn’t sure what he’d ask me. But I nodded anyway. “As long as I can I ask you a question.”
He chuckled. “Got it. Why do you hate your birthday?”
“I don’t hate it. I just…” I sighed. “Okay, I hate it.” I let out a humorless laugh. “It never feels likemine. Nothing has ever felt like it belongs to only me. Growing up I didn’t celebrate because my mom didn’t believe in extravagant parties when other people were struggling to make ends meet. Even as an adult, it was all about everyone else’s resolutions or their families. And all I wanted was for someone to tell me I was their moon and their stars, that I mattered. I guess my birthday is just a reminder that I didn’t feel that growing up.”
