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She gestured to Carson. “Carson is white. That little boy who keeps staring at Delilah all lovey-dovey? He’s white.”
Miguel snorted.
Oliver’s gaze dropped to his plate.
“Those people,” Stephanie pointed, “are your family, right? But your brother looks Arab, your fat sister looks Mexican, and your tomboy-looking sister looks Greek or something. So, what are you?”
“My mom’s not fat,” Sanem spat. “And my Aunt Brittany looks way better than you. Plus, she’s not an evil witch.”
“Don’t mind her, Sanem,” Raina said. “Nothing she says is true. Stephanie has a problem where she can’t keep her mouth shut until somebody socks her in it.”
“You should sock her, Aunt Raina.”
“I should, shouldn’t I?”
Lucas stroked Raina’s thigh. “Stephanie, why does any of that matter? What do you plan to do with the information? I’m Raina’s man. Full stop.”
“She won’t know what that is,” Raina went on. “She hasn’t had one of those since 2012. What was his name again, Steffie? The dude that said if the world ended in 2012, he was ready if it meant getting away from you? Chauncey?”
“Nah, it was Chance,” O.B. said. “And he didn’t want to take one.”
The table laughed.
Stephanie, brows wrinkled—as if she wasn’t the one who started this shit in the first place—popped a lentil meatball into her mouth. “The problem is, y’all are ignorant,” she said.
Mrs. Daniels set down her utensils. “Oh? We’re ignorant? Please explain, Steffie. This, I have to hear.”
“I ask the questions everyone else is too scared to ask.”
“You think everyone wants to know if I’m white?” Lucas asked. “Look around. Nobody here cares where I’m from.”
“Are you Muslim?”
“I grew up of Islamic faith, but I don’t practice much of anything now. Is that a crime?”
Stephanie looked from him to Raina. “Are you prepared to cover up your body? To share him with other women? You know they can have multiple wives, right?”
“It is allowed,” Jay said. “But it’s not mandatory. And I don’t see how that would apply to my brother if he doesn’t practice.”
Stephanie popped another meatball into her mouth. “You’re not even American. Where you’re from, maybe you don’t understand that there are cultural differences. Interracial relationships aren’t as easy as y’all are out here making them to be.”
Lucas folded his arms, head cocked. “Who said they were easy? And regardless of what I look like, I love Raina for who she is. Everything she is.”
Raina looked his way.
He met her eyes, and a question danced in her irises, but he was too preoccupied with Stephanie to decipher it.
Turning back to Stephanie, he opened his mouth to say more, but fate intervened.
Stephanie coughed, clawing at her throat. Tears sprung in her eyes, and she thumped herself in the chest, eyes pleading and the whites slowly transitioning to pink.
The room went silent.
Then Mr. Daniels sighed. “Help her, son.”
Lucas stood, walked over, and performed the Heimlich, dislodging dry legumes from his wife’s messy aunt’s throat.
Stephanie slumped forward.
