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We go through another five pitchers with G-mama switching up the alcohol for each. At some point we go from morose to laughing at silly nonsense. Warmth fills my chest and it isn’t all thanks to the liquor, though the hazy quality surrounding everything my eyes land on is. I take off my glasses but my blurriness only increases.
A knock on my front door precedes a man’s voice calling out, “Onyx, I swear this is the last time I come running after you drunk dial me.”
I swing accusatory eyes toward Onyx. “You drunk dialed the mayor? When? We’ve been with you this whole time.”
She shrugs and says, “You went to the bathroom and Laila left to make another pitcher. I didn’t mean nothing by calling him. Just wanted to hear his voice.”
Pedro enters the living room looking disheveled. A loc of hair hangs over his forehead and he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. For the first time I understand Glamma’s fixation with him. Pedro never looked this sexy when we were in school together.
Something about seeing Pedro in my living room causes me to think about Cameron. He also has sexy forearms. And the freckles dotting his skin are almost too appealing to ignore.
“You practically begged me to be your designated driver. How’d you put it? I needed to come get you for the safety of the community.” He surveys the empty glasses and our relaxed bodies. “I guess there’s no getting around it. I’ll take you and Ms. Laila home.”
I swivel my head until I have Glamma in my sights. “But I thought you were spending the night,” I slur.
“Baby girl, you must not have checked your guest rooms lately. You don’t have no place for guests to stay.”
I frown, distinctly remembering the themed rooms I used to play in. Back then when Glamma or G-mama felt especially nostalgic, they spent hours in the house. Sheets covered the furniture then. Since moving back I always intended to uncover the furniture, restore what made sense, and replace what was too old to keep. “I don’t understand. What happened to my furniture?”
G-mama chortles and shakes her head. “It’s been four days, dear.”
“The day you rented out my bungalow?” I ask in disbelief that they emptied my house without my knowledge. “If you know about this, then you know where my furniture is.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“You can’t plead the fifth. This isn’t a courtroom.” I stumble to a standing position and wobble over to G-mama.
“But the mayor is here and I won’t incriminate myself in front of a government official.”
“As entertaining as it may be to watch this little family drama play out, I have to get back to the office. Ladies, if you please, where are your purses?”
Instead of granting G-mama the space to move, I waver on my feet trying to understand why my two grandmothers needed to get rid of my furniture. The puzzle is too great for me and they aren’t offering up an explanation.
G-mama, tired of waiting, pushes to a standing position, forcing me to stumble. I yelp as I lose my balance and realize my butt is about to have a painful meet-and-greet with the hard floor’s surface. Warm arms wrap around me, saving me from my undignified fall.
I look into my savior’s brown eyes wishing they were green. As Pedro and I stare at each other, suspended in time, the voice I’ve secretly come to crave asks, “What is going on here?”
CHAPTERELEVEN
Cameron
First there was the intimate exchange I witnessed between the mayor and Kenya at town hall. Now I walk into Kenya’s house thinking about checking up on her after how upset she appeared over her grandmother’s reaction to Pedro favoring her only to find them in another intimate position.
I swallow my rage at seeing this man take liberties that Kenya won’t afford me. Is she fighting her interest in him for Onyx’s sake? As Pedro rises with Kenya still in his arms, I can’t deny how well-matched they are.
“What is going on here?” The question leaves my mouth unbidden when I should have turned around and left everyone to their own devices. Now I’m stuck as all eyes turn to me. Even Kenya’s warming gaze as it touches on me can’t diminish the resentment simmering in my belly.
She stumbles over to me, knocking her glasses askew. She’s drunk. I take another look around. All the women are in a similar condition. Onyx is practically draped over the sofa with a smile I can’t quite define gracing her face. Meanwhile, Laila wavers on her feet, scowling at the mayor.
“You’re here,” Kenya breathes and I get a whiff of something sweet and strong on her breath.
A smile breaks out on her face and she giggles, melting away the negative emotions inside me. I wrap my arm around her waist, needing more than her welcome to assert my claim. Having her within my embrace allows me to breathe easier and reassures me that her grandmother hasn’t steamrolled over her or hurt her tender feelings.
Kenya seems to hold her hurt inside and to some extent, I understand her need to insulate the pain from inquisitive outsiders. I may be guilty of doing the same thing a time or two. An image of my bandmates flashes inside my head.
“Glamma drunk dialed the mayor,” she giddily whispers. “Can you believe it? My glamma—”
“Baby girl, Cameron don’t need to know nothing about that. He needs to join us for a drink before the honorable mayor takes us away.” Onyx winks at Pedro. If she is going for sultry, she doesn’t succeed as it looks like she’s blinking lashes from her eyes.
