Page 4 of The Wrong Reciprocation

Unable to help herself, Twyla grinned at the thought of Arturo. "Well…we might have a date planned."

Linda wrapped an arm around Twyla's waist and patted her hip. "Aww, that's great! I’m sure it can be hard to pine for someone who isn’t interested so I’m glad he decided to give you a chance."

Twyla gritted her teeth to keep from saying something disrespectful and forced out a brusque, "Thanks.”

She knew this was nothing more than her mother trying to get under her skin for ignoring her question so she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of getting visibly upset. More than that, Twyla had no desire to correct her false assumption.

"Mmhm,” Linda continued. “What's it been, like four years since you've been on a date?"

Twyla sucked her teeth and side-eyed her mother. "See, now why you tryna play me, lady?"

Laughing, Linda released Twyla and walked further into the kitchen. Twyla heard the distinct sound of the fridge and then cabinets opening. Once she heard the unmistakable pop of a cork being wrenched from a wine bottle, she looked over her shoulder to see her mother pouring up. Chuckling to herself, she turned back to the stove.

Just as she covered the skillet of now-submerged porkchops with a lid, her mother held a flute that was filled to the rim with a bright red liquid and garnished with a strawberry on the lip. Eagerly, Twyla grabbed the glass.

Linda raised her own glass, ready to clink it against Twyla's. "Let's toast to your first date in six years!"

With an affronted gasp, Twyla quickly pulled her glass back, splashing a little of the drink over the sides. "Seriously, mama?"

Giggling, Linda waved her free hand in the air. "I'm just playing baby. C'mon, let’s cheers."

Sucking her teeth a second time, Twyla clinked her glass. She knew her mother really was just teasing her. It's what she’d always done, and usually Twyla let it roll off her back, but sometimes she was once again that five-year-old girl who regularly went crying to her grandmother because “mommy is being mean to me.” Nowadays, Twyla bit back when she felt Linda was doing too much and that was usually enough for Linda to keep it playful and light. purposefully got under her skin and Linda roasted her like a hotdog on MLK Day. It was how the older woman showed her love and Twyla didn't mind because she could be quick on her feet when the situation called for it. They just had that kind of relationship where they'd always been friends while also being mother and daughter.

Twyla was grateful that she'd never had to hear Linda exclaim that she wasn't one of Twyla's "little friends" and that was largely due to the proximity in their ages. Linda had given birth to Twyla when she was seventeen years old and still living at home with Twyla's late grandmother. That woman had practically raised Twyla as her own, and half the time she felt like her own mother was more like her sister. They were so close that they'd chosen to be roommates even though Twyla could more than afford her own place.

"So," Linda said casually, breaking Twyla out of her thoughts. "What does Mr. Accent look like?"

Twyla immediately choked on her cranberry mimosa, causing Linda to burst out laughing. She glared at her mother, before grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping the dribble from her chin.

"I'm sorry. I should've waited until you were done taking that sip."

It wouldn't have mattered at all.

Clearing her throat, Twyla shook her head to clear the thought away. She set her flute on the counter and picked up a spoon to check the corn.

"I told you he was fine." Never mind that Twyla hadn’t actually told Linda anything at all.

Taking a heavy swig from her glass, Linda windmilled her hand, "Be more specific. How tall is he? Does he have all his teeth? How much does he weigh? How much does it weigh?"

Twyla cut her eyes at Linda at that last question before pursing her lips and staring at the food on the stove. She wasn't going to answer any of those questions, and definitely not that last one. Linda would find out what Arturo looked like at their wedding along with everyone else.

Realizing that Twyla wasn't going to answer the question, Linda scoffed and slammed her empty glass on the counter.

"Girl, don't nobody want your lil nerd! I was just asking about him because you haven't said much about him at all. Forgive me for being curious about your life." She slapped her hands on her hips. "Are you bringing Mr. Accent to the cabin?"

Twyla blinked, trying to catch up with her mother's lightning-fast change in topics and attitude. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk about Arturo—quite the opposite, actually—but she hesitated to speak too freely about the men she was interested in around her mother. Linda had broad tastes when it came to dating and, unfortunately, they spanned from her own age group down to Twyla's. It only took one time for Twyla to bring home a man she liked for her to never let another man darken her doorstep unless things were serious.

Three weeks of dates and lengthy conversations had made her comfortable enough to invite him to a barbecue. Linda had pulled her to the side, claiming to have a bad feeling about him, but Twyla brushed her off. When he disappeared for about half an hour while she was in the backyard line dancing she tried not to jump to conclusions, but he returned behaving a little cagey and standoffish her antennae went up. It didn’t matter that he’d refused to answer any of her questions when she tried to figure out what was wrong because Linda had eagerly told her—in great detail—what had conspired between the two of them.

“I told you he wasn’t good for you, baby. I just had to prove it. Listen to your mama.”

Five years had passed since then and Twyla hadn’t gotten close enough to someone to even think of bringing them around.

"Uh…no ma'am. Our first date is this Saturday and the family cabin trip is in three weeks. Even if I was ready to lock him down, that's a little soon to be meeting the whole family and going on a trip with us."

"How are you ever going to have what you want if you're scared to move? Just jump."

Brows furrowed, Twyla gave her mother a cautious look.