I groan, dropping my head back for a second before sitting up again. “No.”
“Yes,” Jules says.
“He’s not a thing.” I do my best to sound convincing.
Jules tilts his head. “You hesitated.”
“I surely did not.”
“You did.” He sets his cup down, his fingers tapping once against the plastic lid. “And you’ve been thinking about him.”
I grab my napkin, folding it over and over, smoothing it flat to keep my hands busy. “He came into the shelter with his daughter. That’s it.”
“Mhmm.”
“That’s all there is to it,” I insist.
He studies me for a heartbeat longer, then nods once. “Alright.”
Before I can ask what that means, Mama’s back, setting two plates down in front of us of crispy fried chicken, mashedpotatoes with butter melting right down the center, and green beans seasoned just right, with a side of warm cornbread.
“You two talkin’ about somethin’ interesting?” she asks.
“Nope,” I say quickly.
Jules doesn’t miss a beat. “We’re talkin’ about the man Maggie met today.”
I close my eyes briefly. Mama stills.
“Oh?” she says, setting the last plate down. Her tone stays easy, but there’s something more in it now. “What man is this?”
“It was nothing,” I say, already cutting into the chicken. “He came into the shelter with his daughter.”
Mama rests her hand on the back of the booth, her eyes boring into me. “He got a name?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And?”
“And I’m eatin’ my dinner.”
Jules laughs into his drink.
Mama watches me, not pushing but not letting it go either. She just waits, like she knows if she gives it time, I’ll say what matters.
But I don’t. Not this time.
She nods once. “Mm-hmm. Well, if he’s lookin’ to adopt a dog he can’t be all bad.”
“That’s what I said,” Jules adds.
Mama glances at him, then back at me. “You be careful.”
“I always am,” I say, not looking directly at her.
“I know you are.” Her hand comes to the top of my head, smoothing down a piece of hair that’s not even out of place. “Just don’t forget you’re allowed to have something for yourself, too.”
I swallow, focusing on my plate. “I know, Mama.”
