Page 144 of The Sweetest Return

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sunday brunch at my mama’s house smelled like fried chicken, catfish, buttermilk biscuits, brioche French toast, pancakes, cheese grits, scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, brown sugar bacon, potatoes with peppers and onions, cinnamon rolls, and coffee strong enough to wake up the dead.

I should have been hungry.

Technically, I was. My stomach knew what to do with my mother’s table. The rest of me had been messed up since I woke reaching for a woman who had already left my bed.

Kayla sat beside me in purple leggings, a yellow sweatshirt, and two puffs with bows even enough to prove Mama had done her hair. She had made me responsible for cutting her pancakes into pieces shaped exactly right, which apparently meant small enough for her mouth and big enough to accommodate all the drama she carried in her little body.

“No, Uncle Dre.” She pushed at my hand. “Like this.”

“That is how I cut it.”

“No.”

Across the table, Danielle laughed while her husband, Keith, caught the syrup bottle before Kayla’s elbow knocked it over.

“She is very specific,” Danielle said.

“She is bossy.”

Kayla looked at me with offense all over her little face. “I am not.”

Keith wiped syrup from her sleeve with the patience of a man who had accepted that fatherhood came with contact drills. “She gets it honest.”

Danielle turned toward him. “Whose side are you on?”

“The side without syrup on my pants.”

Pops chuckled into his coffee.

Mama passed me the biscuit basket like she hadn’t already put two on my plate. “Leave that baby alone. She gets it honest.”

I looked at my sister.

Danielle lifted both hands. “Don’t bring me into it.”

Pops sat at the head of the table pretending he wasn’t watching me, which had always been one of his favorite lies. My father could stay quiet for an hour and know your business before you finished admitting you had any.

Kayla had been listening to grown-folk conversation since I sat down, picking up Imani’s name every time Mama or Danielle used it. Kids heard everything you wished they didn’t.

Mama had already looked toward the front door twice.

The third time, Kayla beat her to it.

“Where Imani?”

The whole table paused around one small question.

I looked at the traitor beside me. “Good morning to you too.”

She grinned around syrup.

Mama’s gaze came to mine. “It’ll just be you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Hmmm.”