“Willa.”
I rolled my eyes. Maybe I had two archnemeses. Willa Barlowe was the woman I slept with when I needed to forget. Forget about work or my self-imposed loneliness. In between her thighs, I didn’t obsess over what ifs or play back conversations as far back as high school. It was obvious she wanted more, but I wasn’t looking to build new memories with her. I was hoping to forget old ones.
I sliced open a bag of soil. “Oh yeah.”
“She asked after you.” I changed out the soil on one of our potted plants which had outgrown its current home. “She’s anice girl.” Coming from my sister, this was high praise. Dial Birch didn’t like anyone and if that person was dating one of her brothers, she liked them even less. She probably favored Willa for the same reasons I did, she was affable and a true caregiver. If I mentioned having the sniffles, Willa would show up to my door with homemade minestrone soup. When she went to the Shop and Pick, before coming to my house to mess around, she’d purchase two cans of Arizona Iced Tea and a few beef sticks because they were my favorite.
Dial continued, “You should spend a little less time with your hands in the dirt and more time using those digits to play the piccolo.” She smirked.
I cringed. “Could you not? I don’t even want to guess what piccolo is code for.”
“Her pussy, Edison. I’m strongly suggesting you get laid.”
“Maybe you should take some of your own advice and stop worrying about me.”
Dial was one year older, and she thought that made her the boss over the nursery, the family, and me. I loved my sister dearly, but she was forward and a bully who acted as if she knew everything about everything. She was also better than me at almost every activity … shooting, drinking, and line dancing. Now mind you, I was good at all three, but next to my sister I couldn’t compete.
“Don’t worry about my piccolo and who’s playing it.”
“I have the sneaking suspicion it’s a one-woman band,” I teased.
Dial guffawed, tossing the rag in her back pocket at me, connecting with my face. “You heading to the house after this?”
“We were summoned, so yes I’ll be there.”
“What do you think that’s all about? The last time Daddy called a family meeting he told us granddaddy had gone on to be with the Lord.”
“I checked on Gram this morning. She is alive and ornery so you can rest assured it ain’t that.”
“That woman ain’t never gonna die. Neither God nor the devil have the capacity to deal with her.”
Our parents requested our presence at dinner tonight. We had family dinners every Sunday, so why they felt the need to expressly invite us was beyond me. When Pops texted me he was short on details, just said we’d talk at dinner tonight. Not knowing made my head spin tall tales.Had Momma’s cancer returned? Was Pops’s health failing?My parents were in their sixties, relatively fit and in overall good health, but people my age lost their parents all the time. My buddy Keni just lost his father two weeks ago. The man just collapsed at work. His heart gave out.
“What do you want to bet Cyrus is a no show?” I asked. Cyrus was the oldest of the Birch siblings.
“He better or I’ll rip him a new one.”
“I can see it now, he’ll call in claiming he couldn’t get away from the office.”
“He acts like he’s the mayor of New York and not Hume. There isn’t any crisis that requires him to stay late at the office on a Sunday.”
“What about that time Mr. Croft’s steer got loose and was meandering down main street?”
“Key word, meandering. That was the laziest steer I ever did see. Just decided to go for a leisurely walk on a Tuesday afternoon.”
“That steer broke Mrs. Vicks’ flowerpot,” I joked. Fortunately, that pot and a pile of shit down main street were the only casualties.
“Ugh, don’t remind me. I had to listen to her harrowing tale of coming face to face with a cow and living while trying to help her pick out a new pot.”
“You have a heart of gold.”
“She was a customer. If it wasn’t for that I would have told her to give it a rest. I’m going to call Cy and remind him his presence is required. What if mom and dad finally admit he was dropped off at their doorstep by break dancing nomads because he couldn’t catch the beat?”
“That’s very specific.”
“Have you seen him dance?”
“Fair.” For a Black man from the south, Cyrus had no rhythm, and the funny thing was he swore he was dancing on the ones and twos when it was hilariously obvious he was moving his body to the threes and fours. “Like Negro, we can see you.”
