“I want to marry her.” The truth snapped into place with the clean click of a ball dropping center pocket.
Grandma nodded once. “Okay then.”
“Okay?” I couldn’t help the breath of a laugh. “That’s it?”
“Boy, you want me to throw rice in this living room?” She smiled. Then it faded to something weightier.
“You got anchor in you, Quentin,” she said. “But you ain’t dead weight. An anchor don’t stop a ship from moving—it just keeps it from drifting too far out. Lets itrise and fall with the tide, but always got a place to come back to. That’s what you give her. Let Rayna know she can ride her waves, baby, but she got something solid waiting when she’s ready to rest.”
I leaned back, those words finding a place to live in me. Bring her where y’all going.
For a beat I saw my father’s hands. Big, careful hands that smelled like motor oil and Palmolive when he’d wash dishes for my mother after dinner. He used to tap my shoulder when we crossed the street—two taps.I got you.He wasn’t loud. He didn’t puff. He just showed up, every single day, until a bad curve and a worse driver took them both from us.
“I’ve been thinking about him,” I said. “A lot. About the kind of father he was. He made small things feel big—sitting in the bleachers at my JV game like it was the playoffs, taking me to the library on Saturdays, teaching me how to tie a tie even though I swore I’d never need it. He didn’t get to finish. I want to finish.”
“You gon’ be a good daddy,” Grandma said, and she didn’t dress it up. She just placed it like a fact. “You got your father’s hands and your mother’s listening. That’s a good mix for a child. Jada’s gonna be a good auntie too.”
Jada was my next visit before I went back to the love of my life.
Grandma cleared her throat. “Now… when you gonna ask her to marry you?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “We haven’t even come up for air long enough to talk like that.”
“Hmph.” Grandma tilted her head. “You ain’t gotta get on your knee tonight. But you do need to get down in yourspirit and settle what’s already true. That’s the promise you carry to her. Not a question mark. A sentence.”
I laughed under my breath. “You a preacher now?”
“I’m a grandmother.” Her smile was quick. “It’s a promotion.”
Chapter 30
Break & Belly
The evening of Juneteenth had The Green Room dressed like it knew exactly who built this city. Tino in a tee that said FREEish SINCE 1865, hollering like freedom itself paid his bar tab. The bracket board was a mess of Sharpie and bravado. Somebody had brought peach punch that tasted like a hug and a threat, according to Quentin. And somebody’s uncle was two cups in and swearing he taught Minnesota Fats.
And me, I was 38 weeks, round as a drum, belly leadinglike a soloist, out here determined to shoot a couples tournament with the man who put this glow on me.
“Rayna, I love you,” Quentin murmured at my ear, palm at the small of my back the way he always did, “but if you climb on that table and try to stretch like you not carrying our whole future, I’m putting you in the car.”
“Our whole future,” I repeated, half rolling my eyes, half melting. “Relax, teacher man. I told you I was playing.”
“You told me that three weeks ago, right after you told me not to propose if it was about the baby.”
“You still proposed,” I said, smug, because the memory was sweet—him in my living room on one knee with those glasses on, voice calm-and-sure, ring that looked like it had been waiting for the exact shape of my hand.
He laughed under his breath. “You made me swear it wasn’t pity. I swore. You said we could set a date after Baby Whitaker-Hale shows up.”
“Still the plan,” I said, rubbing the curve of my belly. The baby kicked like they agreed.
He kissed the crown of my head. “Stubborn.”
“Correct,” I said. “And right.”
The crew rolled in behind us like a parade. Daddy first—wearing a grin that said his bracket picks were gospel. Mama right beside him, fresh bob crisp and soft at once, their shoulders brushing easy like muscle memory. When Daddy muttered, “Don’t forget to print those cruise documents,” Mama’s mouth curved like she’d already picked the excursions.
Darren and Keisha, right after, their boys in tiny Steelers hoodies even though it wasn’t football season; habit is a religion in this family. Shawna floated inon a laugh, hand tucked into Andre’s elbow like she’d finally found a man who kept pace. Jada slid by with a bakery box—cinnamon buns she refused to admit she made—and Malik posted near the bar with his new girl, Cierra, who had a smile dangerously close to content. Uncle Leon had the rag over his shoulder and that proud-uncle squint he put on whenever I chalked a cue. Tino spotted us and banged the mic stand once just to watch Quentin wince.
“Whitaker Electric in the building!” Malik hollered, clapping Daddy on the back. “Don’t think I forgot—you still owe my kids that wiring workshop.”
