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“I said that these kids would like to take a picture with us if you don’t mind.” Jamal looked behind Kyle’s chair and saw a group of four boys and a couple who were probably mom and dad of the crew. Mom was trying to pull her kids away from the table.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in a rush. “I told them that you guys probably got bothered all the time and we didn’t need to mess up your lunch. But then Jace here decided he would pretend to need to go to the bathroom so he could try to sneak over here to get your autographs. His brothers followed suit and before I could turn around all of them were gone.”
“Come on,” she grumble whispered to the boy whose hand she had in an iron grip. “You’re embarrassing me and your father.”
“No, no, ma’am. Please wait!” Jamal got up from the table and grabbed the mom’s hand from her son’s wrist, letting the kid go free. “I was just caught up in my thoughts, so I’m the one who should be apologizing, not you. Me and Kyle don’t mind taking a picture with your kids at all. Do we, Kyle?”
Kyle flashed his trademark dimpled smile Mom’s way. “Although I’m sure they just want a picture with me and are being nice to includeyou,” Kyle said with a punch to Jamal’s arm, “I’ll let you be in all of them anyway.”
“What do you say, guys? You want a picture with the studly Thunder point guard?” Jamal lifted up the sleeve on his shirt and flexed his bicep. “Or do you want a picture with the has been?” Jamal pointed his friend’s way.
“He doesn’t even play anymore,” he whispered to the littlest tike, who looked to be around three or four. Little guy looked up at Jamal with eyes as big and brown as Cassie’s and Jamal couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
“You’re taaaaaaaallllll!” Little guy smiled at Jamal and held his arms up in the universal ‘hold me’ gesture. Jamal looked to mom for permission. When she nodded her head, Jamal boosted the little guy up on his shoulders and held on to his waist.
“Oh, dat’s high!” Little guy squealed.
“Mr. Jenkins, we’d really like a picture withbothof you, if you don’t mind,” one of the oldest boys, who looked to be about thirteen, said politely. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re amazing. But you guys together, man – you guys were epic!”
Jamal laughed. “Kid, I was joking. We’ll both take pictures with you.”
“Really?” the kid beamed.
“Really,” agreed Kyle, lifting the other small child in his arms. “Bet you wanna go as high as your brother, huh?”
The carbon-copy of the child Jamal was holding nodded at Kyle.Twins?Jamal mouthed to the mom, who nodded. Four boys and twins to boot. They sure had their hands full.
“Then it’s your lucky day, kiddo. Because I’mwaaaayyyytaller than Jamal, which means you get to go even higher than your brother.”
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Come on short stuff, out of bed! We’ve got a tournament to get to and I’m actually home for this one. You’re not sleeping the day away!” Jamal was trying in vain to wake his daughter up. Her team, the Vikings, were playing a tournament in Reeves Park in Norman and they were running behind. Irma had the night before off and was meeting them at the park and Jamal had never quite figured out how she was so successful in waking his daughter up.
He gave JJ another shake before ripping the covers off her legs.
“Daaaa-aaddd!”she moaned, using her hand to feel the way around her mattress, trying in vain to find the covers Jamal had thrown on the floor. “You’re so mean! Five more minutes!”
“I gave you five more minutes fifteen minutes ago!” he said, pulling her toes. “We’re going to be late and Nanny will have my hide! I still haven’t even attempted to tame those crazy curls of yours. Get. Up. Now!”
“Why can’t nanny tame my curls, dad? You know she always does better than you anyway!”
“Don’t you remember? She was out late playing Canasta with her friends and is going to meet us at the game.”
“Oh, yeah. She was out with her boyfriend. I forgot,” JJ said, rubbing the sleep out of her hazel eyes.
“Irma doesn’t have a boyfriend. She plays Canasta with her friends she met at the grocery store,” he replied, tossing her jersey, pants, socks and belt her way.
“That’s what she wants you to think,” she said, tossing the oversized Thunder jersey she used for a nightgown on the floor before pulling her jersey over her head. “She hasn’t played Canasta in at least six months. She met Melvin at the grocery store and has been going to his house on Friday nights.”
“Melvin? Really?”
“What’s wrong with Melvin?” she asked, pulling her pants up and trying to tuck the jersey into it. Jamal walked over to her and helped tuck it in neatly rather than the bunches she was currently stuffing in her pants. “You don’t even know him.”
“It’s just an old man name,” he replied, helping her weave her red belt in her softball pant loops.
“She’s kinda an old lady, daddy,” she said, patting him on the back. “It’s ok, though. He’s nice. You’ll like him.”
