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The patio door popped open where Jonah stood, now wearing a shirt. “What the hell? My chicken’s getting cold. Come on!”
I let Anna walk ahead to join the family at the table. While I felt her gaze on me as we settled into the two empty places at the table, I didn’t look at her again. I’d tortured myself enough for one day.
It wasn’t that I thought I wasn’t good enough for Anna. Not really. I just wasn’t the kind of guy she wanted. She’d always dated the academic, high-achieving, brainy kind of guy. I was the one who squeezed by with Cs, determined to never enter a classroom again after high school.
Having ADHD had made school a difficult place for me to be. But it wasn’t even that. My interests always had lain in doing something with my hands, working outdoors and not in an office. As often as I’d let myself fixate on Anna, I’d always known she would be nothing more than a fantasy for me.
“Let’s hear it,” said Jonah. “Is my chicken amazing or what?”
“Mmph,” grumbled Justin with a mouthful.
“Reed?” Jonah arched a brow at me.
“Amazing. Best barbeque chicken I’ve ever had.”
“Damn straight, it is.” Jonah pointed a drumstick at me from across the table. “Better than Door Dash again.”
I ignored his usual heckling and dove into Ms. Dinah’s mac-n-cheese.
“You need to learn how to feed yourself,” said Jonah.
Justin set his iced tea down with a clunk. “Or just get a woman.”
“Oh, that’s nice and sexist,” snapped Anna on my right.
“What?” Justin gestured innocence. Poor man.
Anna rolled her eyes. “Just get a woman to cook for him? Did you leave your brain in the 1950s? No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”
Justin huffed. “What I meant was that girls are better at cooking.”
“Really? Have you seen the number of male chefs on the Food Network?” she snapped.
“I don’t watch those shows.”
“You’re an idiot.” Anna shook her head.
“Well, you’re better at cooking than any of us, and you’re a girl.”
Jonah nudged Justin with his elbow. “Bro, let it go. You’re digging yourself deeper.”
“Agreed,” she said, pointing her fork full of green beans at Justin. “Just because I’m a better cook than any of you doesn’t mean I belong in the damn kitchen cooking for a man.”
Mr. Jimmy laughed at the head of the table and kept eating. One thing I loved about Mr. Jimmy and Ms. Dinah is they always let their kids fight it out. And nine times out of ten, Anna won.
Justin huffed. “See what you got me into, Reed?”
I blinked at him. “I never said a damn word. I’m perfectly fine eating take-out and my Nana’s shrimp etouffee once a month.”
“How’s your Nana doing?” asked Ms. Dinah, taking the opportunity to change the subject.
“She’s doing just fine.”
“Oh, that’s so good to hear.”
My nana had raised me after my mom got sick and passed away when I was in ninth grade. I never knew who my dad was. Mom had always saidhe’s not worth knowingandwe’re better off without him. She got pregnant at sixteen when he was working at one of the sugar mills during harvest season. He left town when he found out she was pregnant and never looked back.
Mr. Jimmy had always been the father I never had. The father that meant something to me.
