Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Oh, he can make the time,” Aunt Sherry said, avoiding her sister’s eyes. “All the man does is work.”
“Leave Marc alone,” Luis said, nudging his wife. “He can make up his own mind.”
“I’ll discuss dates with your dad, and we’ll see,” Marcus said, and that seemed to satisfy Grant for the moment.
“Sorry,” I mouthed over Grant’s head.
Marcus shook his head, and I noticed Keisha watching our interaction. She stayed silent throughout the conversation, and again I wondered what she might be thinking.
Soon enough, dinner was over, and we helped clear the dishes from the table before retiring to the living room again. Grant and Jeff were involved in a conversation about college—Jeff had attended Kent State and was telling Grant about the campus. Keisha and Aunt Sherry had taken over dish duty, and it was nice to hear Marcus and his mother interact, even though I could tell she was itching to get back to the kitchen, much like my mom used to do.
“Want to help me serve dessert?” Marcus asked, and I was grateful to have something to do with my hands. I still had some nervous energy buzzing through me, and I wasn’t sure why.
I followed him into the kitchen, where we cut slices of the sweet-potato pie Aunt Sherry had made, along with our caramel apple.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Marcus asked as we passed the plates around, then sat down to enjoy some of our own.
“I’m officially stuffed,” Grant said, standing up with his empty plate.
“Me too.” Marcus patted his belly. “I loved your apple pie.”
“Thanks. It’s my mom’s recipe.” Grant looked at me with a vulnerable expression. “But we decided to add walnuts.”
“We’re making it our own,” I said in a hoarse voice, suddenly emotional.
I stood too and began collecting plates, swallowing down the boulder in my throat.
We stayed about a half-hour more before we decided to hit the road.
“The food was delicious,” I told Arlene as she and Marcus walked us to the door. I waved goodbye to the other family members standing behind them. “Thank you for having us.”
She patted my shoulder. “Anytime.”
22
Marcus
Once I closed the door behind Delaney and Grant, I could feel their eyes on me. Well, not everyone’s. Luis and Jeff had wandered back to the living room to watch the game.
But Mom, Keisha, and Aunt Sherry followed me into the kitchen, where the inquisition would undoubtedly begin. I picked up a towel, wiped down the counter near the sink, trying to look busy but knowing they were watching me until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“What?” I said, rounding on them.
“You are so wild about that man,” Aunt Sherry said as she stored the leftover whipped cream in the refrigerator.
“And his son,” Keisha hissed, already in protective mode. “The T-shirt, the trip to New York, the inside jokes.”
I threw my hands up. “First, you tell me I’m not getting out enough, and now you’re complaining because I’ve grown close to a friend from grief group? A friend who understands what I’ve been through?”
“It’s more than that, and you know it,” Keisha replied, and Aunt Sherry concurred under her breath. “Even his son has you all wrapped up. Does Lane know…that you…?”
“That I…what?” I huffed.
“You know what she’s trying to ask,” Aunt Sherry said in a softer voice as if she had to tiptoe around the subject. “That you…whatever you call it…also like men.”
“I call it bisexual.” I nearly rolled my eyes. “And of course he does. I consider him a close friend.”
“How close?” Keisha arched an eyebrow.
“None of your goddamned business.” I folded my arms. “What’s with this line of questioning? What am I on trial for, exactly?”
Keisha finally backed down, her stance dropping, and she sighed. It might’ve had to do with my mother’s stern look.
“Just be careful,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Don’t want you getting hurt.”
“What makes you think I will?” I reached for a soda from the fridge.
“You’re just…you’ll get it twice as bad now,” Keisha said, digging through Mom’s Tupperware drawer. “We both struggled to find our place in this community because we aren’t Black enough—or white enough, for that matter—and being a bisexual person of color only adds to it.”
Mom and Aunt Sherry stayed silent, but I could see the sympathy in their eyes.
“It’s not like I haven’t already dealt with my fair share, especially as a biracial teen figuring out my sexuality.” I glanced at my mother, whose eyes had softened. “Not that many people knew, outside of the guys I was messing around with, but still. I knew back then, and I’m fully aware now of how some people might see it.”
“Back then, you hadn’t inherited a Black-owned business.” Keisha raised a slotted spoon at me, then scooped leftovers into a plastic container.
“So fuck ’em.” I took a sip of my soda. “I’m not going to hide who I am. I’m also not going to announce anything either. I don’t know the background of any of my customers unless they choose to share it. Business is a commodity, plain and simple. If they don’t like it, they can take it elsewhere.”