“Who is this?” the woman who answered asked, voice cool and clipped.
“It’s Targen Sidorov. I was checking in on the car.”
Rogue laughed softly. “I can work miracles, Targen, but I don’t always work them fast.”
“Yeah. No rush, I?—”
“I remember it’s for your girl’s grandpa. I promise I’ma get you right. Old Chevies are close to my heart. He’ll be more than pleased. I understand how important it is,” she promised, sounding softer than she had initially.
I sighed. “Yeah. I think it’ll make her happy and that… making her happy…”
My voice trailed off. I didn’t have the words to convey how important making her happy was.
“I know,” Rogue said, before disconnecting.
(Saturday,June 28)
By the time Real and Everly’s reception got good and loud, I had almost convinced myself that the little knot I felt in my stomach was nothing but nerves.
Almost.
The wedding had been beautiful, of course. My cousin had cried. Real had tried not to, but he failed in front of God, family, and everybody with a camera phone. Everly looked so happy she almost glowed, and Real kept looking at her like he couldn’t believe all that attitude and beauty had finally become his forever. I loved that for them. I really did.
And I absolutely loved their wedding. The flowers, the food, the music, the way our family filled every corner of the roomwith laughter and well wishes, all of it touched my heart. I loved the old heads two-stepping while they fussed about their knees and how we didn't know "good music." I loved Hyacinth alternately singing and arguing with Emory about the color of her dress. I loved watching my grandparents sit at their table like royalty, PawPaw leaning back in his chair with his hand over Granny Nette’s, as he watched his descendants proudly.
I even loved watching Juvie dance… if that’s what you called it. That young man had perfect timing when it came to jokes, but when it came to rhythm? Not so much.
“He just looks awkward, poor thing,” I whispered as I watched Akeira and Real's sister Chennai try to teach him and Mikhail some line dance.
Targen’s chest shook against my back. His arms were around my waist, and my curls grazed his chin while we swayed more than danced at the edge of the floor.
“Don’t tell him that. He’ll be so hurt. Nigga swears he got lessons from Michael Jackson.”
I snorted. “He must mean a Michael Jackson he met in elementary school or something. I know damned well he don’t mean Michael Joseph Jackson. Not Joe and Katherine’s boy.”
Targen laughed harder, drawing a few looks. Juvie pointed at us like he knew he was being discussed, then did something with his shoulders that made Mikhail shake his head like he was tired of the bullshit. Bless his heart. Mikhail hadn’t signed up for loud Black family gatherings with thirty people talking at once. He didn’t know what to do with the aunties calling him "baby" and fixing his plate without his input.
“Akeira, leave them boys alone. Let them go finish them plates,” my aunt Olivia called out right then as she and my cousins Calanthe and Farrah approached us.
“TeTe,” Calanthe groaned.
At sixteen, she was embarrassed by everything. How she dealt with a mama like my Aunt Cynthia and a sister like Hyacinth was beyond me.
“What? They didn't get to finish eating before the DJ died and went to line dance heaven. Poor boys done bunny-hopped, electric slid, wobbled, and a few more.
“Don’t forget that Cha-Cha slide. I didn’t think anyone danced worse than Mekhi. Juvie proved me wrong,” Farrah said.
Aunt Liv swatted at her. “He tried. Let them rest. Especially that blond one. Is he single?” she asked.
“TeTe–” I began.
“As a dollar bill,” Targen chimed in.
My aunt looked at Mikhail speculatively.
“I wonder if Spencer–” she began.
“Spencer gon' kill you,” I warned.
