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“We’d love to meet her, son,” his father said. “Saturday’s fine.”
His mother smoothed the napkin in her lap. “Of course we’ll meet her. I just hadn’t realized you’d already made plans.”
“I asked her last night.”
“All right.” She looked at him then. “Saturday.”
He nodded and went back to his food.
They finished dinner with his father talking about a guy from work and his mother making sure Drew took some leftovers home. He walked them out to their rental, then drove home. He wanted to hear Nicole’s voice, but he still hadn’t figured out how to tell her about the paper. There wasn’t going to be a good way to say it.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he took the number she’d given him out of his wallet and dialed. The phone rang several times. “Hello?” Whoever answered had to raise his voice over the music—James Brown by the sound of it. Somebody close to the phone was laughing hard enough that Drew had to wait a second. Nicole had said this was her own line, so he hadn’t expected anybody else to pick up. But whatever. He needed to talk to her.
“Hey. Can I speak to Nicole?”
“Nicole? Who’s this?”
He hesitated. “Drew.”
“I don’t know no Drews. Where you know my sister from?”
Shit. MJ.
“Drayton.”
“Oh yeah? What, y’all got classes together or something?”
“Nah, we don’t.”
“How do you know my sister, then?”
Drew rubbed a hand over his mouth. He wasn’t getting anywhere near Nicole until he answered this shit. “We’re, uh . . . she’s my girlfriend.”
“Nicole’s your girlfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your major, Drew? You premed like my sister?”
“Nah. I, uh, I play football.”
“Football?” MJ went quiet for a second. “Wait a minute. Kiernan?”
“Yeah.”
Before he could say anything else, Nicole’s voice came through in the background. “MJ, who’s on the phone?”
The receiver shifted, and MJ’s voice got farther away. Drew could still hear him just fine. “Your boyfriend? Drew Kiernan?”
“MJ, give me the phone.”
“You like white boys now?” MJ laughed, and somebody nearby said, “For real?”
“Give me the phone, MJ.”
“Does Mama know?”
“MJ.”
