Page 27 of Solace in Seven
“Shit, it don’t look like we gon’ be gettin’ food delivered anytime soon,” Hendrix announced, listening to the rumble of the downpour around us.
He made his way around to the couch and handed me a steaming hot coffee mug as I curled my feet underneath me. A few minutes intothe movie, my eyes traveled over to Hendrix whose torso was comfortably outstretched across the couch. As ceaseless rain pelted from the sky, we laid lazily across the oversized couch cushions indulging in our favorite movie. We shared a common laugh when young Mike tried to teach himself how to dance and when him and his boys found themselves caught in the middle of a convenience store robbery on the way to the dance.
I woke up to the savory smells of food wafting past my nose without even realizing the cloudburst of rain from the Caribbean storm had ushered me off to sleep. Intrigued by the smell, I lazily made my way into the kitchen.
“What smells so good in here?”
“I just finished throwing down in this mothafucka. That’s what smells so good in here,” he boasted.
I rolled my eyes. “Boy, please.”
“C’mon, sit down. Let’s eat.”
I followed him into the dining room where all the food was already plated and laid out to perfection. We had lobster bisque and Caesar salad to start. Followed by seafood pasta with lobster sauce, and chocolate truffle cake topped with vanilla bean ice cream for dessert.
“Wow,” I said, clanking my chocolate-stained spoon on the side of the plate, “this was amazing.”
“Hell yeah.”
“You uh, really put it down. All this food and not one dirty dish,” I teased.
He rolled his tongue against his teeth before smiling. “Yeah, uh about that. I may have had a private chef prepare all this shit and deliver it to us, but I did reheat it. That’s what had it smellin’ so good.”
I grinned as a soft chuckle whipped past my lips. “I know, but I wasn’t gon call you out. I knew you didn’t know your way around the kitchen that damn good, but it was a nice gesture,” I said, ushering a coy shrug.
“Oh, so I was caught from the beginning, huh?”
“Yeah, you were.”
“You cook?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Barely. I make the essentials, trust me. Ramen, spaghetti, fried chicken and cereal,” I confessed as my shoulders silently shook with laughter.
“Ah, hell!” he teased.
A wide grin spread across my face. Being around Hendrix felt new and fresh like the reset button I needed. I’d gone from a permanent scowl to frowns to all thirty-two teeth-showing smiles. “Shut up! Do you cook?”
“I got a couple signature dishes.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“I’ve perfected a good grilled salmon, and my mama’s mac and cheese recipe.”
“Shit, at least your mom gave you something useful. All I got was constant nagging.”
“Word? I always thought you had the perfect lil’ family set up.”
“I didn’t know you noticed, but uh, no—it wasn’t. Far from it, actually. Growing up, my mother was the type of person whose love didn’t come free. I had to buy it; and not with money, but with things that would make her actually care to admit that I was her daughter.Stand up straight, don’t slouch. Don’t grind your teeth. Marry up. Get an education. You’re putting on extra weight, go workout. Do something with your hair. No one will ever notice you if you dress like that.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah, so if I wasn’tperfectthen I wasn’t her daughter. If I wasn’twinning, I wasn’t her daughter. If I wasn’tnumber fucking one, I wasn’t her daughter.”
“That’s crazy.”
“After my father died, I put some much-needed distance between me and Inglewood and never looked back.”
“Y’all still talk?”
