“The Great Palmer? Is that what you call him?”
“Are you sure you grew up in the DMV?” She looks look over her shoulder at me with a look of playful disbelief.
My mouth goes dry. “I did. I just…my parents didn’t mingle with other Ghanaians much.”
“Here.” Sin hands me a stack of plates and picks up two fistfuls of silverware, and I follow her to the dining room.
“Al Palmer is a Ghanaian billionaire who lives in the most expensivepiece of real estate in northern Virginia. Supposedly, he’s the son of a chief in Ghana. But no one’s really sure about that. We do know that he made a lot of money in oil and mining for other minerals. And that he did some deals where he ended up holding land people used as collateral when the investments he’d sold them failed.”
“I see,” is all I can manage. I feel like I’ve been hit by a hammer. “I’ve never heard any of this.”
“I wish I could say I’d never heard his name because every time he comes up, my parents go ballistic.”
I manage a chuckle even though my heart is racing like a locomotive as we walk into the dining room. Cold sweat is forming on my neck.
This is a disaster from every angle.
My father is trying to reinsert himself into DC’s political class again just as I’m trying to make a name for myself here.
If that wasn’t bad enough, I’ve finally found a woman I’m crazy about and whose family I’ve come to think of as my own, and he’s managed to taint it.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“What?” Sin looks up from where she’s arranging a placement. Her eyes narrow and her brows furrow at whatever she sees on my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I’m not.
It’s a miracle my hands aren’t shaking when I put down the last of the plates. My entire nervous system is on fire. My chest feels heavy, my heart slams against my ribs, my gut is in a knot. I back away from the table, focused on leaving before I say something I’ll regret. I need to think. “I just remembered that I have a meeting early tomorrow morning that I haven’t prepared for. I can’t stay.”
She purses her lips and tilts her head. “Okay. Are you sure that’s all? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah. Just have a lot to do for a meeting tomorrow and totally forgot.”
Sin’s smile is warm, but her eyes are slightly narrowed, whether with concern or suspicion I can’t tell. “Do you want to fix a plate to take home?”
“No. It’s all good. I’ll see you next week,” I call over my shoulder and leave the house through the back door without looking back.
Chapter Seventeen
Sin
Missing in Action
Sunday has become my favorite day of the week. I used to spend it sleeping off Saturday’s excess and dreading Monday’s mania. These days, I’m up with the sun, hit the ground running, literally. Then I spend the rest of the day doing what I call my “body repairs,” washing and twisting my hair, facial masks, and the egg and tomato omelette that my mother makes every Sunday morning.
I used to think my self-care ended when I left for my parents’ because I went straight into the kitchen to help my mother make our Sunday staple—ground nut soup with pounded rice. Even that chore has started to feel like a sacred ritual that gives me time with my mother, who is the best cook on the planet, learning and catching up while we make the food that nourishes more than just our bodies.
Dinner is a drawn-out affair that ends long after the food is finished.
I usually find my second wind by the time we’re done cleaning up. And then Kwame and I go sit outside, feet in the hot tub and talk until my parents start turning off lights and drawing curtains to signal it’s time for us to leave.
I go to bed exhausted in the best ways, happy, and ready to take on the week.
This Sunday, though, as we’re clearing the table, I’m itching to make my excuses and leave.
Kwame messaged my mother to say he had a cold and would see us next week.
No one seemed to give it a second thought. I felt alone in the surprisingly sharp pang of disappointment I felt when my mother announced his absence.
