Page 32 of Juliet's Echo

I was hardly ever around Alonse — family video chats barely counted. But something about him had always given me a bad vibe. Not the "don't leave the kids around him" vibe. More like the "I collect taxidermy and they're my closest friends" vibe.

I don't like him.

"Cuz," I greeted, loud and completely phony, walking up with my fist raised for dap.

"Psalm," he replied flatly, leaving my hand hanging with nothing but an awkward nod.

This motherfucker.

"Isn't this wonderful," my mother said, clapping her hands like she was presiding over a joyous occasion. "You two get better acquainted — your father and I are going to brunch."

My eyes went wide.

"You're leaving me here with him?" I asked, pointing behind me. "No offense," I added toward Alonse.

"Some taken," he muttered.

"Show him around," my mother ordered. "Talk. Bond. Go." She shooed us both and turned on her heels.

"You like music?" I asked.

"I much prefer the sound of natural breathing," he replied, stiff as ever.

"Oh hell nah — aye, Ma!" I called out. She seemed to be in the kitchen so I headed that way. Alonse followed weirdly behind, hands in his pockets.

"Ma, a few of the guys are coming over to use the court."

"Good." She looked past me. "Alonse, you like basketball?" She winked at him, and he returned the gesture with a slight nod and the most uncomfortable smile I'd ever witnessed.

"We're using the outside court, Ma," I said pointedly.

"Well then use the inside court, son."

Fuck.

My father entered the kitchen dressed and ready for brunch, grinning like a smooth criminal — which meant he'd clearly heard every word of that exchange. My expression of pure aggravation was all the invitation he needed to let out a full, stomach-holding laugh. There was nothing remotely funny about this situation and he was about to make it worse. His approach to conflict between my mother and me had always been the same — find a solution that still gave her exactly what she wanted. Happy wife, happy life, and everybody else figures it out. He leaned over my mother's shoulder, pressed a kiss to hercheek, dropped his usual kiss on the top of my head and greeted Alonse with a warm handshake.

I watched my father tiredly, already knowing how this was going to go. The judge was about to deliver his verdict — siding with the prosecutor and sending the plaintiff directly to hell.

"Just lift the privacy fences and use the outdoor court, son," he said. Gavel dropped. Case dismissed.

My mother grinned like a Cheshire cat as my father took her hand and escorted her out.

I stood there, lip curled, watching them saunter away.

Get on my fucking nerves.

Alonse cleared his throat behind me. I turned to find him at the kitchen island with a mini eyeglass cleaning kit laid out — except he was using it to clean his cell phone. How he fit anything into the pockets of those tight ass shorts would forever be a mystery.

"All your friends your age?" he asked.

I looked at him. "Yeah, why?"

He shrugged. "Just trying to gauge how 'down' I need to be." His corny ass chuckled.

Everybody's a comedian around here.

But something about the question sat wrong with me. In the pit of my stomach, it felt less like an attempt to relate to a younger crowd and more like a quiet investigation into something else entirely.