“Ah, not sure I’m very marriage inclined.”
My head swiveled to the side. “Seriously?”
“My first marriage was such a nightmare, Jewel.”
“No doubt. So you don’t plan to try again?”
“Not without really looking before I leap. I don’t want to go into another marriage without knowing where all the skeletons are buried and the land mines are hiding.”
Whew, marriage with land mines and skeletons, this was good to know. It was also a topic to explore later, not today. As I said, it had been a long day. “Well, Roman, that’s some romantic view of marriage you have there.”
“It’s real, baby.”
“Is that why you are so crazy about Patrick?”
He shot me a look. “First off, I’m not crazy—I’m cautious. Second, based on my experience, when something feels like it might be trouble, it usually is. So, yes, I am sensitive to potentially bad juju.”
“Juju, huh? Your Cajun is showing, player.” I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.
He put his lips next to my ear and whispered, “I can show you more than my Cajun, baby.”
I hopped up and stalked to the back door. “Lights out, people. Anyone not off the property in ten minutes gots to start paying rent.”
As the last person skittered out the yard, I turned back to him. “Let’s see what we can do about that juju, hmm?”
21
Turkey Day
Jewel—Thursday, November 24, 2:15 p.m.
“Mom, I hear you.” How could I not? She’d been screaming into the phone for the better part of a half hour. Okay, not screaming. Cleo Williams did not raise her voice. She spoke forcefully with a raised inflection that really felt like screaming when you were on the receiving end of it.
“And I understand but you’ve gotta understand that it’s all settled. Roman and I are walking out the door as soon as I hang up. Listen, we’ll see you at Christmas. Roman’s really looking forward to Cancun.” I looked over at Roman. He threw his hands up and went over to pick up his keys. Cleo was having trouble understanding why I wasn’t coming to New Orleans at all this Thanksgiving. Every year it was the same argument. Usually I spent Thanksgiving with Renee or Stacie or my sister so I wouldn’t have to choose between going to Mom’s or going to Dad’s. But this year had been ... unique, to say the least. I didn’t feel like flying all the way to my sister’s in Alaska, Renee was going to Gregory’s house, and Stace and I weren’t as tight as we used to be.
No big thing. I had been wrapped up in my job and Roman. She had been wrapped around Patrick . . . Oh, sorry, he was called “Trick” now. No, I wasn’t jealous. As I explained and explained to Roman, it was not jealousy. It was the principle of the thing. Okay, I would never admit it to Roman, but there really was a time when I felt Patrick was the love of my life. The fact that she was dating him now pissed me off. It went against those unwritten rules in the girlfriend handbook. Like dating your third cousin’s ex-husband—it simply wasn’t done. Wasn’t so much like he was mine once and so he was mine forever. But if he was mine once, he should be hers never. They should etch it in stone somewhere: Once a man had been with a relative or close friend, he became absolutely off-limits to all close friends and relatives. Amen.
When their relationship goes rocky, what then? Could Stacie come to me and say, “Why didn’t you tell me that Patrick was like this?” No, she could not. Not to mention the tacky fact that we now had intimate knowledge about the same man. Did she use something that I said against him or maybe to entice him in the first place? Or did the two of them discuss some habit of mine? See how messy it could get?
“Jewellen Rose, are you listening to me?” Mom’s voice had taken on that no-nonsense tone.
“Yes, of course I am! I always listen to you, Mother.” Was it something to worry about when a lie rolled that easily off your tongue? Roman was making gagging sounds across the room. I shot him a look and he tapped his watch.
“Well, I’ll let you go. I’ll call you after the Cowboys game.” I paused for her response.
“Mom, no, I’m at Roman’s. I’ll call you tomorrow. What? Of course I’m going home for the night! Yes, alone!” Roman snickered and I shot him a look. He thought it was ridiculous that at thirty and even after the Labor Day patio episode, I was still lying to my mother about where I spent my nights. Hey, they say a son’s a son till he takes a wife; a daughter’s a daughter for the rest of her life. As far as I was concerned, my mother didn’t have to know I was sexually active (blocking out the Labor Day episode!) until the day I got back from my honeymoon. Not that she thought I was still a virgin, but we need not advertise otherwise (still blocking it out!). “Love you, too, Mom ... bye now.” I hung up and picked up my purse.
Roman was jingling his keys around like there was a fire somewhere. The worst thing about great guys is that underneath all the great stuff, they were still just guys. Pity that Y chromosome was always getting in the way. Like the key-jingling thing was going to make me walk faster. “I’m ready.” I smiled at him. Guy or no guy, mother or no mother, it was the holiday season. Made me feel charitable all around.
“Let’s roll.”
Now, we had a pleasant fifteen-minute ride over to his parents’ place. Wouldn’t you know the boy waited until we pulled up in the driveway to tell me, “Did I tell you that Jaquenetta’s gonna be here?” My charitable feeling was starting to evaporate some.
I turned my head slowly to look at him. “Ah, good, the ex-wife. No, Roman, I don’t believe you mentioned that. To what do we owe the honor of her presence?”
He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “She always spends Thanksgiving with us.”
How cozy, I thought. “Really? You don’t say?” I spoke casually, as if this was no big thing. In truth, I hated damn near every minute I had to spend in that woman’s company. Beyond the obvious reasons for not liking each other, Jaquenetta and I had never attempted to bond or establish common ground. We tolerated each other for Roman’s and Chase’s sake. I didn’t want to get to know her better, and she made it real clear she felt the same way.
“Now, Miss Jewel, she got nowhere else to go, you know? I can’t just uninvite my baby mama just ’cause I gotta girlfriend, right?”
“Umm.” Baby mama drama. He had a point. I hated it, but he did have a point.
“So, we straight, babe?” Sometimes he had a way of putting things that just set my teeth on edge. That cocky so-are-we-all-clear-on-this? attitude. But what could I do? Sitting there in the driveway of his parents’ house on a major holiday with his family, ex-wife and child inside? Who was I to make waves? I was just the girlfriend. Still, I wasn’t going to put up with any of Jaquenetta’s crap. My philosophy is don’t start none, won’t be none. That’s where I was coming from and I said as much.
“Not having it out of her today, Frenchie. If she plays nice, I’ll play nice. Otherwise, the gloves are coming off.”
He looked at me to gauge my seriousness and finally shrugged. “You got to be you. Do your thang. Let me know when to duck. We cool?”
“Yeah, we cool.” He leaned over and kissed me. One of those come-on-you-know-you-love-me-baby kisses. He was cute, but he wasn’t that cute. Okay, so he was.
“Come on, chère, Madere’s been asking about you. She really likes you.” He must have known I was displeased or he wouldn’t have whipped out the French on me. Brother was no fool; he knew the weaknesses and just when to push those buttons.
Now, did he sound surprised when he said his mother liked me? Why wouldn’t she? Just when you think you understand a guy. Or was I overanalyzing again?
“You two comin’ in or are you sittin’ in the car all day?” Beau called from the front door. We exchanged a look, got out of the car, and headed up the walk.
Renee—Thursday, November 24, 3:15 p.m.
“Renee, why don’t you help me carry these plates out to the formal dining room?” Mrs. Samson (she hasn’t given me permission to call her
Fiona yet) asked me. Though why she asked, I would never know. It wasn’t as if I could have said, “No, I’d rather sit here with the guys and watch the football game,” now, could I? I got up and headed for the dining room.
I was getting yet another good glimpse of life in the Samson household, and I had to say, it didn’t bode well for the future. Greggy helped out around the house and did his fair share, but looking over at Garry, Greg’s dad, I had to wonder if he didn’t start out the same way. Maybe Fiona went into it the same way I did—happy and smiling, thinking she’d found an equal and loving helpmate for life. Here it was, thirty years later, and she was cooking and setting tables while they watched the football game. And here I thought we’d come such a long way, baby.
Sure, she had a maid. Old Eugenia was in there cleaning pots as we spoke. But looking around this seven-bedroom palace they call a home, I was thinking it took more than a seventy-year-old maid and a fifty-year-old housewife to keep the place spotless, which, of course, it was. Fresh flowers in almost every room, carefully laid-out snack trays, pressed linen tablecloths and napkins—even at the breakfast bar, for Christ’s sake!
Yes, I always said I wanted to live high on the hog, but the hog was starting to look like a pain in the ass. Who kept all those flowers fresh and linens pressed?
“Don’t forget to lay the soup spoons, too, dear.” Yes, there was enough silverware laid out to eat six meals. And I had no idea where the proper place to lay soup spoons was supposed to be. My Emily Post was rusty at best. Now, I considered myself pretty damn worldly. I’d eaten in some of the best restaurants across the nation, but never had I seen such a daunting display of flatware and cutlery.
“Hey, girl, let me help you with some of this stuff.” Cassia, Greg’s sister-in-law, came in. Cassia was married to Greg’s only sibling, Geoffrey. They had twin boys aged three (Godfrey and Garrison) and had a girl on the way. It was clearly a “G” thang for the Samson offspring. Geoffrey was a little on the snooty side (he must have taken after Fiona), but I liked Cassia.
I smiled at her. “Thanks, girl. I was beginning to think this was a test I was about to flunk.”
She laughed. “Honey, the first time I came here for Thanksgiving, she did the same damned thing. Had so many different kinds of forks and mystery utensils, I wanted to cry. ’Cause you’re right—it is a test. I call it the silver spoon test.” She grinned.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, if you can properly place the spoon, I guess she figures you’re deserving of her son. God knows they were born with ’em in their mouths.”
I looked at her in surprise. “You weren’t?”
She let out a peal of laughter. “Girl, hell, I was born in a little shit-kickin’ town in Georgia.”
My mouth fell open. Cassia seemed so at home in these surroundings. “No shit, girl?” I watched while she laid out forks on the left, knives on the right, then the teaspoon. She laid the soup spoon horizontal above the plate, then stacked the salad plate and soup bowl. Water glass, champagne flute, and dessert plate were no problem for her. She finished by rolling the napkin, stuffing it into a ring and laying it across the soup bowl. I was in awe and set about copying her. She went on talking as we worked around the table.
“Yeah, girl, I just happened to bump into Geoffrey at a basketball game. Georgia Tech was playing Duke, and there we were.”
I shook my head. “World is small. So what did you do?”
“Hell, I married him and never looked back.” She grinned.
“No, I mean, how did you pass the silver spoon test?”
“Oh, I rolled all the silverware in each napkin and set them to the side of each plate, just like they do at Denny’s. It looked neat, so Fiona couldn’t say much, but you could just tell when she unrolled it and fifteen utensils came rolling out ...” We laughed together.
“I guess you won her over in the end, though, huh?”
She raised a brow. “Not really. It’s not like we’re best buddies or meet for lunch or anything. The kids are what really keep us friendly.”
I shook my head. “Why can’t a relationship just be about one girl and one guy and what they feel for each other?” I could almost hear Jewellen in my ear telling me to get real.
Cassia smiled. “Never happens. You’ve always got family, friends, coworkers, somebody. It’s a nice dream, though—that deserted-island fantasy.”
“Renee, could you come stir the gravy, dear?” Fiona called out.
Cassia and I exchanged looks. I’d have to fantasize later; I had another test to take. Gravy, at least, was something I knew about.
Jewel—Thursday, November 24, 4:45 p.m.
“Okay, mes petites. Allons, nous mangeons!” Madere Montgomery called us to come eat. There was a general stampede. Beau, as usual, had some little bimbo on his arm. I cut her off rounding the corner from the kitchen and outmaneuvered two cousins for sixth place in line. There were a whole bunch of Montgomerys, and they could all eat like Hoovers. The aunts and uncles alone numbered over fifteen without counting in-laws. I learned on Labor Day not to be shy and retiring around this bunch. Good manners were nice, but in this crowd, manners would get you an empty plate and hurt feelings.
Pops Montgomery (yes, everyone calls him Pops or sometimes Avery) grabbed me around the waist. “Viens ici, petite fille!” Though the way he spoke, it sounded like, “Vi’ci, ’tite fille!”
“ ‘Come here, little girl,’ he said,” Roman whispered in my ear. Still translating for me even after I brushed up on my French. Sometimes with the bayou dialect, it was hard to catch, but I got the basic idea.
“I’ve got it, babe.” I smirked at him before looking up at Avery. “What can I do for you, Pops?”
“Chu need to eat, little girl! Put some mo’ flesh on dose bones, eh, Rome?”
“I don’t know, Pops. She looks plenty curvy to me!” Roman laughed as he cut in front of me in the buffet line and started piling his plate up.
I looked at him as I picked up a plate. “You just make sure you don’t get too curvy yourself, eh petit garçon?” I was catching on to this Cajun thing. I grinned as everyone hooted and hollered. Pops gave me a squeeze and walked away.
“Who you calling little boy, Miss Jewel?” Roman frowned down into my face.
“Eh, chère, you no take no mouth from LaChayse, ya hear?” One of the uncles called out to me.
Roman grinned, leaned closer, and kissed me. We got a few more whistles. I was trying to get used to these public displays of affection. Like I said, this was a tough crowd to try to be proper and polite in.
“That’s the only kinda mouth to take! What you say, Bijou?” Kat called out, and I laughed into his mouth. Kat and some of the others had taken to calling me Bijou, which, appropriately, means “Jewel” in French. It amused me to hear how the Montgomery children used their Cajun background. Beau played his up, making it a charming accessory to his already happy-go-lucky personality. Katrina switched back and forth from earthy bayou woman to sophisticated cover girl. And Roman? God bless him, he used the Cajun like he used the hip-hop—when he felt it was appropriate and to help him play whatever role he was into that day. I was starting to get used to that mercurial, multifaceted thing he did. This boy took moodiness to new heights. Whoever said love was easy?
“Hey, Romeo, ya holdin’ up the line!”
“Let l’enfant up for air!” That was Aunt Yo-Yo. She called everyone l’enfant, or child, even Grandmere Montgomery, who was pushing ninety-five.
Roman released me and gave me one of those cat-with-the-canary grins before turning back to the buffet. Just then, Jaquenetta came in. Did the woman own anything other than black Lycra? She had maroon-colored curls cascading down her back (bad weave) and flying saucer silver hoop earrings on. Without sparing me a glance, she stepped in between Roman and me with Chase at her side. “Ya don’t mind if we cut, do ya, Juliet? Romeo’s child is hungry.” She bared her teeth in what was supposed to be a grin, no doubt.
&nbs
p; I’d been having such a nice time that I’d almost forgotten she was there. And how clever of her to use Chase as an excuse.
I grinned back, just as sincerely. “I would never deprive this child of anything, honey. You just go right on ahead.”
“Are you sure, Miss Joo-well?” Little Chase blinked up at me, almost as if he knew his mama was up to no damn good.
I leaned down to kiss his cheek. “I’m sure, sweetheart.” I looked back at his mother. “Go ahead, I can wait.”
“As long as you don’t mind coming behind me. You might have to settle for what I leave behind,” she said, and turned her back.
Oh, like I wasn’t supposed to know what that little dig meant? Two could play these little word games. “Well, no, I don’t mind at all. They say timing is everything, don’t they? Sometimes you just gotta save the best for last.”
“Some people happy wi’ sloppy seconds.”
“A real diamond always sparkles; cubic zirconium loses its luster pretty fast.”
“Uh, babe, I got enough food for you too. Come on and let’s find a place to sit. The game’ll be coming on soon.” Roman, the little peacemaker, spoke. He dragged me into the family room and onto the love seat closest to the TV. “Meow, meow, Miss Jewel.”
I sank my fork into an interesting-looking dish on his plate. “She scratched first, player.” I took a bite. “Oh my God, that’s heavenly. What is it?”
“Oh, that’s Aunt Yo-Yo’s oyster and crawfish stuffing. Good, huh?”
“Um-hmm.” Talk ceased as our forks battled for position on the plate.
Madere and Pops walked in and stood watching Roman and I eat off the same plate until we got self-conscious and looked up. Madere was a tiny woman with dark skin, a beautiful face, and a petite figure. Avery was a light-skinned giant of a man with rough features and beautiful eyes. Oddly enough, they looked perfect together.
Madere smiled. “You happy, you two?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we answered in unison.
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