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Kris laughs, as does the Pastor. “Malcolm’s wife Lyndsay teaches the choir. She actually gave me my start.” He looks at me and smiles again. I don’t think I've seen his teeth this often in all the time we’ve spent together.
“You will be back this way on the seventeenth, I hope.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Kris shakes his hand again, and he looks at me once more.
“Our doors are always open.” He nods and leaves us to our lunch.
“What’s the seventeenth?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
“Easter Sunday?” He answers as though I should have known. “Now, don’t laugh, but it’s a little—known fact that I have it in good with the Bunny.” He whispers.
“I haven’t believed since I was like seven. Honestly, we haven’t celebrated that holiday in years.”
“Any excuse for chocolate Cadbury eggs is good by me, but I actually don the ears for the annual Easter egg hunt.”
“Pictures, or it didn’t happen.” I smile as Kris pulls out his phone, showing me—pictures. “That’s a bunny. That doesn’t mean it’s you.”
“Come out with me, and you can check under the head.” He smirks, finishing his sandwich.
I fall back, laughing. “That sounds so dirty.”
“No, dirty would be asking you to help me fluff my tail.”
I bite my lip as my brows reach my hairline. “I—I do think I am speechless, Sir.”
“Well, that’s a first.” He leans toward me and, using his thumb, wipes a bit of sauce off my cheek before sucking it back and nodding. “Momma’s recipe still holds water.”
“What was it like growing up with a Momma?” I know I shouldn’t ask, but I want to know, and he always seems to be honest with me.
“She was the doting type. Real supportive, but not in that you have to win way. More in a follow your bliss way. She stayed home to help raise Claudette and me but was always doing some side hustle. Selling jewelry, makeup, or even magazines. She pushed me to pursue music, but when I made it was good enough to step back and let me rise or fall on my own.”
“Pop hasn’t even tried to see anyone. So, there’s never been a woman around to teach all those things we have to know. I’m sure part of that was my fault. Being sick kept him with me a lot. Do you ever feel like you’re holding back?”
“Everyday.” His head drops, then he wipes his hands down his jeans and stands. “When was the last time anyone pushed you on a swing until you felt like you were flyin’?”
“Before I was sick,” I answer honestly.
He puts out his hand, “Guess we need to fix that, don’t ya think?”
I lift my hand to him. “Promise to not let me fall?”
“I’ll be sure to use myself as a cushion if you do.”
“Then let’s swing together, shall we?”
