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“Some mail arrived for you today,” my mother announced when I entered the kitchen. “I left it on the counter.”
“Thank you,” I said, snatching up the envelopes. A quick sweep revealed that 3/4th was junk mail from companies telling me I qualified for a loan or credit card, pizza coupons, and magazine subscriptions. One envelope, in particular, caught my eye.
I ripped it open and scanned the contents.
“Jon? What’s the matter, sweetheart? You’re turning redder than a tomato.”
I didn’t bother answering and foisted the document into her hand. I ripped my glasses off and vigorously wiped the crystal-clear lenses. I needed to do something to keep my mind preoccupied and my hands busy.
I’d hate to become a cliché and punch holes in the wall.
“Mediation?” my mother scoffed. “The time for mediation has elapsed. There’s nothing to discuss.”
“I agree, but I have to attend.”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because if I don’t go, there’s always the possibility that the judge will order us to mediation, which will push back our court date. I don’t want to prolong this any longer.”
Which reminds me…I need to talk to the kids.
She sighed.
“What?”
“I don’t like this for my baby.”
My lips twitched as I attempted to hold back my smile.
“I’m in my thirties—I’m not a baby anymore.”
“You will always be my little Jo-Jo Muffin,” she teased.
I didn’t have time to become embarrassed when the backdoor flew open, and my dad, Anthony, Grant, and Casey strutted in decked out in camouflage.
“Turkey hunting was a success!” my father proclaimed, hoisting up two large birds.
“I shot a duck,” Grant informed casually as he offered his contribution to our festive feast.
“That’s just…precious,” I answered with a tight smile, accepting the dead bird.
“Where is Kiyah?” Grant asked.
“She’s with Ms. Simone and the girls. They went shopping and should be back any—”
“We got gingerbread cookies!” Kiyah screeched, running into the kitchen with a package of cookies held above her head.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, pipsqueak, but these cookies aren’t for you,” Anthony said, plucking the package from her hand.
“Awwww. But I want gingerbread cookies,” she protested.
“Hey, I get it. Sometimes I want gingerbread cookies, too, but I also don’t want to be brained by my own cane.”
“Anthony, stop with the dramatics. You can have a cookie, Kiyah,” Simone said, entering the kitchen with two grocery bags and Nori and Daisy behind her. My eyes widened when Nori flattened her fingers beneath her chin, flicked them, and pointed at Daisy.
I should address the fact that Nori just said, ‘fuck you’ to my daughter. But let’s be honest, Daisy probably deserved it.
“Nori Rene Powell! Who taught you that?!” Simone yelled, catching her in the act. Nori’s eyes widened cartoonishly before she pointed at Anthony, who was discreetly inching behind my father, out of the line of fire.
