Everly was my mother’s daughter from her first husband. Fortunately for her, her father was actually a stand-up guy who honored his visitation agreement. Which was why I don’t have many memories of my sister in the summer because she’d always spent that time withherdad.
“Mom did,” she told me before she disappeared into the kitchen again.
“Sure did,” my mother said, as she walked the ham over to the table. “I can send you the recipe. I got it from your grandma.” She leaned in and smelled the ham. “Smells good.”
Confused, I leaned in too and all I smelled was cold pork. Because there was nothing else to it. It was just a hunk of meat, no pineapples, no brown sugar. Nothing. Duke’s ham was probably warm and tender. If I thought about it really hard, I could taste his special glaze. He was so good in the kitchen my mouth was watering just thinking about his candied yams too.
The last thing set on the table was fried chicken. And I silently thanked God for seasoning that I could smell. I wanted to dip my head and take it all in. Everly must have made this because her grandmother could throw down in the kitchen. I knew this because when Everly graduated from college, I went to the celebration with Dallas. We smashed that day.
Everly sat down next to me and nudged me with her elbow. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I forced myself to smile, then promptly told a bite-sized lie. “Me too.”
“Mom is really grateful,” she whispered. “She talks about you all the time.”
That’s doubtful. My sister wasn’t as nice as she was acting today. She was more like my mother than even she probably cared to admit. They even looked alike. The only difference was skin color, because Everly’s father was Black too. But to be polite, I said, “Thanks for telling me that.”
“Seriously. We were talking about it, and both of us want to be closer to you.”
Yeah right. “Sounds nice.”
“I need my sister,” she continued, oblivious to my inner torment. “I hate that things are strained.”
I needed a sister too. And God gave me one when I met Dallas all those years ago, then he blessed me with three more whensheintroduced me to her sisters. “Me too,” I repeated.
I took more pics of all the dishes that were set out and sent them out to Dallas.And Duke. Earlier, Duke had warned me not to eat the turkey because it wasn’t done. Luckily, my mother had put it in the oven for a little bit after I’d sent the pic. Instead of looking pale and undercooked, it now looked pale and dry.
By the time dinner was served, I was longing for a way out and a flight to Michigan. But I wouldn’t leave. It had been a while since I’d been in the room with my motherandmy sister. So, I was determined to make the best of it.
We ate in silence—well,theyate—which was absolutely not how Thanksgiving was back home. Dinner probably wouldn’t be ready until about four, maybe five. But there’d be lots of people, sports on the television, cards on the table, and a house full of love.
“Did you ever get my message?” my mother asked.
I buttered a roll and tried to imagine it was homemade and not the brown-and-serve type. “Huh?”
“The text I sent,” she clarified. “I told you I needed a favor.”
I scanned the faces around the table, a little embarrassed that she’d essentially forced me to address this in front of people. But I would. “I did.”
“Well?”
“I don’t have it,” I told her, taking a bite of a crunchy green bean. I set my fork down and drained my glass wine. Everly poured me another, and I thanked her.
“I don’t believe you,” Mom said. “You own your practice. You work.”
You could too. “I also have bills to pay. Why do you need it?”
She glanced at her boyfriend. “Desmond owes back child support. In order to get his passport so we can travel, he has to pay the balance. You’d be doing us a favor.”
“So you’re not getting evicted?” I glared at my lying sister, then met the waiting gaze of the man in question. “How much child support do you owe?”
Desmond stammered a bit, then finally said, “About ten thousand.”
“Hmm. Isn’t that something? You’re perfect for each other. Neither of you take care of your children.”
“Iasked for the money to help him,” my mother interjected. “He didn’t put me up to it, so don’t talk about him like that because you don’t know him.”
I pushed my plate away. “Okay, then. Why would you think that I’d give a man I barely know money to pay his child support?”
