Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“It’s delicious.” I ignore everyone else at the table and hold her eyes, trying to convey my gratitude from all the way down here. “I’d like to see the notebook sometime.”
I slowly realize everyone’s stopped eating, and they’re all looking from Yasmen to me with varying degrees of curiosity. Everyone except Vashti, whose eyes are fixed on her lap, back ramrod straight.
“Anyway,” I say, hoping to dispel the sudden tension. “This turkey is great, too, Carole, as usual.”
“Thank you,” Carole answers, flicking a searching gaze to her daughter.
“Now that you mention it,” Milky says, taking a forkful of the stuffing. “It does taste like Byrdy’s. I’mma need to see them recipes, too, Yas.”
“Anytime.” Yasmen laughs, her eyes warmed from Milky’s approval. “Now, Kassim, Grandma made your favorite. How’s that sweet potato casserole?”
With that pivot, everyone returns to their plates, grunts of satisfaction punctuating the hum of conversation at the table.
“These salmon croquettes are so good,” I tell Vashti in a low voice, reaching under the table to take her hand. It feels disingenuous somehow, like I’m only touching her to reassure her of something, but she squeezes my fingers back and lifts her head to give me a half-hearted smile.
“Thank you.” She takes a sip of the sweet tea at her elbow. “Now tell me more about this trip to Charlotte.”
“We leave Saturday,” I say, keeping my tone flat and neutral. I’ve deliberately not given much thought to the trip. “It’s really quick. We’ll fly back Sunday afternoon.”
“‘We’ being you, Harvey, and Yasmen? You’re all flying out Saturday?”
I eat a stalling scoop of mashed potatoes, taking my time chewing and answering. “Harvey has family in Charlotte, so he’s already there for Thanksgiving and we’ll meet him.”
Vashti puts her fork down and angles a narrowed look my way. “So it’s just you and Yasmen traveling?”
“Yeah,” Deja pipes in from beside Vashti, her mouth full of something. “Grandma’s staying with us. She’ll make us clean everything. I hope she doesn’t cook chitterlings again. Have you ever had them, V?”
Vashti tears her eyes away from mine to answer Deja. “What? I’m sorry. Have I ever had what?”
“Chitterlings.” Deja covers her mouth, eyes twinkling. “They stink so bad.”
“I wash ’em in Clorox,” Carole interjects, laughing at both Deja’s and Vashti’s horrified expressions. “All the poison boils right off. Ain’t nobody ever died eating my chitlings. Y’all don’t know what’s good. I’ll save you some, Vashti.”
“Um, that’s okay. No, thank you.” Vashti manages a small laugh, but her sober eyes return to me and I know she’s still thinking of the implications of Yasmen and me traveling together. There shouldn’t be implications. We’re two adults who are no longer married and have moved on, even dating other people.
And yet…I hadn’t mentioned it to Vashti because I feel some type of way about it myself. It waffles between dread and anticipation. I squash it because it’s irrational and dangerous and useless.
“It’s such a quick trip,” I remind her, squeezing her hand again.
“I know. I just wish you had told me.” She jerks her hand away, ostensibly to take another sip of her tea, but I can’t help but feel it’s a gesture of censure.
“I would have if it was important,” I say, loudly enough for only her to hear. “But it’s not. It’s just business.”
The look she levels on me holds irony and a tiny chip of concern. “Okay, Josiah. If you say so.”
She goes back to eating and chatting with Deja beside her. I hazard a glance to the other end of the table, where Yasmen is chatting with Bayli, one of our best hostesses, head thrown back, the long expanse of her throat working with one of those laughs of hers that fills the room and makes you want in on the joke. The tacky, brightly colored turkey earrings swing when she leans forward to grab her glass of water. Her dark eyes are lit with amusement, cheeks lifted in a smile that makes her look happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. Actually, that’s not right. She’s been looking happy for months now, and the realization is a tiny pin pricking my chest.
She’s back.
The woman I married, who ran the world around her without breaking a sweat, took care of our kids, of herself, of everyone—she’s back.
The woman I loved is back. Therapy, medicine, time. The hell if I know everything it took to bring her back to us, as beautiful and bright and confident as ever, but it’s happened.
Vashti tugs my sleeve, and I glance over, forcing my mouth to match her smile. Her tranquil expression tells me she’s dismissed her concerns about Yasmen and me traveling alone. She believes it will be fine. She believes me.
I hope I deserve her trust.
“Are we gonna say what we’re thankful for?” Deja asks once there is more conversation happening than eating.