“Son, you’re finally here.” Dad appeared just in time.
Breaking away from Xylina, I walked up to him and slapped hands before he pulled me into a fatherly hug.
“Food smells good, Pops.”
“You know I’m the grill king.” He chuckled, patting my back before releasing me. “It’s scary, looking at you is like looking in the mirror. His eyes shifted. “I see you brought your wife too.” He raised a brow.
I glanced over my shoulder where I’d just left my wife. She was having a conversation with Roman. I squinted, trying to make out what had her laughing and smiling so wildly. Both were extroverted social people, so it could be a number of things they were talking about.
“Yeah, she went all out for my birthday, so I didn’t think it would be right to just leave her alone at home.”
I faced my dad again. “So you two are getting along better?”
My shoulders lifted. “We’re working on it.”
He nodded. I knew Dad still carried guilt about my marriage. He was constantly fishing for information about how things were between me and Xylina. This was the first time I was able to mention something positive.
His hand went to my shoulder and he gave it a squeeze. “I’m glad to hear it. I hear her father’s business is in the ground and he’s looking at some serious jail time. Ironic, if you ask me.”
“Or karma’s finally hitting him.”
Dad chuckled and nodded. “You can say that again.”
“Here’s the last of the meat, honey.” Mom walked over to us with a pan of what looked like burgers.
“Duty calls.”
Dad walked off with Mom in tow and I turned back to Xylina and Roman still talking. “Get your own wife,” I joked, wrapping my arm around Xylina’s shoulder and pulling her into my side.
Roman’s eyes bounced between us and a sly grin spread on his face. “Careful, Yosiah, you’re actually sounding like a real husband right now.”
I chuckled. “There’s a first time for everything, right?”
Roman turned his eyes to Xylina. “Looks like you finally wore this guy down, huh?”
“I sure did.” Xylina hugged my waist. “First time my stubbornness paid off.” Roman laughed while I smirked.
While we waited for the last of the food to finish, Mom put on music and everyone sat around the pavilion making small talk. Once everything was done, Mom lined up the sides on the counters—baked mac ’n cheese, pasta salad, baked beans, grilled corn on the cob, and potato salad—next to the ribs, burgers, and hot dogs and we all lined up to make plates.
“Oh no you don’t, it’s my son’s birthday. He’s first,” Mom told Roman who’d raced toward the food.
“Are you sure this is just a birthday dinner? This is a lot of food,” Xylina observed, eyeing the spread.
“Mom’s never been good with portion control, especially on my birthday.”
“I’m sure you’re not used to a homecooked meal, so I made sure there was enough that you can take home leftovers,” Mom commented.
“We have a chef. He always gets home-cooked meals,” Xylina commented.
“So I take it you don’t cook?” The two of them stood in a stare off.
“She doesn’t, but it’s not a big deal. Our chef’s one of the best,” I interjected.
“A chef isn’t the same thing. No matter how much money we had, we never hired one for a reason.”
“Now, now, Zoya, don’t knock it until you try it. A chef comes to the house twice a week to cook for us,” Mama Chelle jumped in and mentioned.
Mom scoffed. “My gran would be rolling in her grave if I allowed such a thing.”