Page 73 of Newly Tied

Lang grunted. Loudly.

“Uh-oh.” Viola chuckled. “There’s a story there.”

“Is there something wrong with Ethan?” Etta wanted to know.

“Yeah, Langston,” Talia drew out his name, staring daggers at her brother. “Is there some issue you’re having with Ethan?”

“Hypocrite,” I coughed.

“No, ma’am,” he said to his mother, crossing his arms.

“You see that?” Viola motioned to him, looking at her sister. “Arm crossing signifies a closing off. He’s no longer open to other people’s thoughts on this matter.”

“I love that you’re going back to school to get a degree in communication and marketing,” Talia told her aunt.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t love it,” Lang groused.

I bumped him with my elbow. “Be nice.”

“Are you certain you have nothing to say about Ethan before he gets here?” Etta asked pointedly.

“Yes, ma’am.” Lang clipped the words.

“And is there anything you would like to say to me about this man here, whom I love and adore, and who I can’t help but notice is wearing the shirt your sister got you for Christmas?” She posed the question to her son.

“Is it really?” Talia had no idea, and she’d apparently bought it for him.

“It is,” Etta apprised her daughter.

To have an encyclopedic memory like that was impressive as hell, as well as scary.

“Oh, well, now, he’s wearing your clothes, is he?” Viola prodded Lang. “That’s a sign of possessiveness. It’s like a king clothing his knights in his colors.”

“This is so fun,” Talia told her brother.

“Is it?” he snapped at her.

“For me? Absolutely.”

He threw up his hands.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Etta asked her son.

“That yes, we’re an us now. You can keep him, he’s yours.”

I looked at him.

“And that was a stupid thing to say outside,” he told me. “We’re doing this, you and me, and I’m not afraid to let anyone know, including my father. And you should go tell Derrick that darts is all you’re ever doing with him,” he ended loudly.

“What?” I was so confused, but Etta was ready to give me a hug, so I bent so she could wrap her arms around my neck and hug me. I squeezed her back, having wanted nothing more than to be claimed by the woman who was, to me, the benchmark that all other mothers should be measured against. She had made me understand what selfless, boundless devotion and love looked like.

“So, do you plan to put a ring on his finger?” Viola inquired because she pushed; that was her way. “Is that what you’re telling us?”

“We’re gonna live in sin first and see how that goes,” he told her, shaking his head.

Her cackle made everyone smile. It was infectious.