“Hmm?”
“Your meal. Do you not like it?” She rubbed momentarily at the spot just below her left shoulder, noticing how Tommie and her aunts followed her movements. She put her hand down.
“Sorry.” He shook his head. “My mind is somewhere else.” He tried to cover a long exhale with a self-deprecating chuckle.
That response didn’t sit quite right. Like he had a catalogue of scripted replies and couldn’t find the right one for this exact scenario. Dude needed to lighten up. She knew he could.
Start somewhere. “That’s pretty obvious.” She placed a forkful of food into her mouth and slowly chewed. The savory flavors took her on a gastronomical lazy river, and she floated along, the noise in her body turning down several decibels.
“Is it good?” he asked. Monique could hear the smile in his smooth tenor.
Monique’s eyes fluttered open, and a smile curved her mouth. “You eat pork?” She snapped off a piece of pork skin and extended it toward him. “There’s a few Puerto Rican spots that I like back home, but it’s been like two years. I’d forgotten how good it is.” She chewed a little more and hummed. “It’s some orgasmic shii—” She slammed her mouth closed and darted her eyes toward where Aunt Don and Auntie Deb sat, mooning over each other.
Wide-eyed, Maurice coughed and reached for his water. His skin was now as red as the hibiscus blossoms that surrounded them.
He cleared his throat and waved his hand in rejection. “No, thank you.”
Monique curled her lips in and released them, sucking her teeth. Being the head of household had cultivated a loose tongue. She had stopped censoring herself altogether when she’d come to terms with her diagnosis.
Remaking herself for others’ comfort was played out, and she lacked the mental and physical energy to perform that act anymore.Fuck it. She would be herself.
She shrugged and popped the offered pork skin into her mouth. “More for me,” she said, doing a little dance in her chair.
Maurice sat stiff, and then methodically ate his food. He nibbled first on the fish, then the rice and beans, then the plantain, returning to the fish again, as if he were trying to catalogue every item, giving it respect and not rushing the experience.
“You all right?” she asked him, raising an eyebrow. “You just… I don’t know… locked up.” Monique gave him anI’m watching yougesture and returned to her meal.
A loud clap brought their attention to Tommie. “Mo—” Maurice’s and Monique’s heads snapped up from their meals and toward Tommie. The whole table laughed. “Mau-rice,” Tommie said slowly, his face full of teasing and sarcasm. “While we’re here, I’m entrusting you with the most important people in my life.” He turned to Lanie. “Except for you, baby.”
“What is he talking about?” Monique mumbled under her breath. She rested her elbows on the table and cradled her chin on top of her hands.
Maurice shook his head. “Chill with the dramatics, man. Who’s with me? Auntie Don, Mrs. Turner—”
Tommie cut him off. “Papa Turner, Moms, withMo-Mo Monie in the Middle,” he said, pantomiming scratching on a turntable.
“So stupid,” Monique whispered through a tight laugh.
“Boy, sit down,” Aunt Don said, while Lanie tugged him back down to his seat. “Monie, baby, I need you close by this weekend.” The look her aunt shot across the table left no room for debate.
Aldonia Lane-Fairbanks was not one to be trifled with. Diminutive with a perpetually cherubic face, she could freeze boiling water with a flinch of an eye muscle. If her razor-sharp tongue got involved… fatality.
But damn. Why’d she have to be under supervision?
Monique knew why. It didn’t need to be said, much less thought.
She nodded and offered an audible, “Yes, ma’am.” This trip was supposed to be about relaxing and maybe taking a few calculated risks. Tommie and Aunt Don would probably lock her in her room if she told them she wanted to go explore the nearby hills.
She didn’t need to be babysat. Auntie Deb would let her go.
“I’m a grown fucking woman,” she said under her breath. “This is some bullshit. Forcing me into the Polydent Parade. Nah.”
A persistent throat clearing annoyed Monique enough to bring her attention back to the table. She looked to her right and saw the source of the disturbance—Maurice—bringing his glass to his mouth.
“Chill…” he mumbled, his lips close to the rim of the glass.
Chill? Like he could even spell the word.Who was he to tell her to chill? Dude was so wound up he’d snap and fall apart any second now. Why did he get to tell her to chill? That’s exactly what this whole doggone trip was supposed to be: her chilling.
“Your internal thoughts are getting kinda… loud,” he covertly continued.