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Tinkling glass.
I’d say about four of my aunts are in there.
Maybe five.
Plus Mama.
Soca music plays loudly.
The bass thumps hard enough to rattle the doorknob.
I cringe, already anticipating my landlord passing on my neighbours’ complaints when I pay rent next week.
“Why isn’t she up yet?” a voice yells.
Sounds like my Aunt Becca.
“Is her car still in the lot, Sharon?”
“Yes!” Aunt Sharon hollers back.
“Should we go downstairs and see what’s happening?”
That’s Mama’s voice.
“No, Tina. Let her be. She’ll come up soon.”
That’s my cue.
I jangle my keys as I pull them out of my purse. Fit them into the lock.
Turn. Push.
Four pairs of dark brown eyes pick me apart when I enter.
My aunts are varying shades of black—from light brown like me to rich dark chocolate. They’re all thick—wide torsos, massive thighs, and juicy butts. Their voices are as loud as their personalities.
Mama swoops in to hug me. “Liz! You’re home!”
“Mama,” I say through gritted teeth, “I thought I told you that key was only for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency,” she replies. “I heard you’re bringing him to the cake testing.”
“Him?”
“That mysterious boyfriend of yours,” Aunt Sharon pipes up.
Damn.
Novah and her big mouth.
Mama smooths the collar of my dress. “I didn’t think it was right that Novah got to meet him before I did, so I was hoping you’d introduce us tonight.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“A pushier parent would have insisted on seeing him in person, but we all believe in giving our children space, so we’re gonna settle for a phone call.”
My aunts bob their heads in sober agreement.
