Page 50 of Tempt Me
“I’m glad they had you.”
A smile flashed across her face. “My nana criticized Mama for not having a better job—she was a waitress—for not going back to school, and for having more kids than she could care for. I think she resented me a little, too, for ruining her dreams for her son.”
I slid onto the floor beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She nestled her bony shoulder into my chest. “I know it wasn’t, but Nana and I were oil and water. Always.”
“What about your mother? Were you close with her?”
“Not so much. She was always working. She said it was for the money. I suspected she wanted to be out of the house and away from Nana’s nagging and away from us kids, who reminded her of Daddy. Then she got an opportunity down in Houston in a restaurant manager trainee program. When she left, she said she’d be back when the program ended and get a job as a manager in Austin.
“But things didn’t work out that way. I don’t know if it was her choice or not. I was nine, and I thought grown-ups could do anything they wanted to. Of course, I thought she chose it. She stayed down there and said she couldn’t take us with her since she worked all the time and didn’t make enough to cover after-school care and whatnot. She sent money to Nana for us. Not a lot, but we always had new sneakers for the start of school and clothes for church on Sundays.”
“Money isn’t the only thing kids need.” We had plenty, but there was still a hole in our family from our father’s death. Charles filled some of it, especially for me as the youngest, but there was a part of my heart even he could never reach.
“Nana loved us, but she wasn’t the warmest person. The last thing she wanted was for us to grow up living hand-to-mouth like our parents, so she pushed us hard.
“Looking back, I appreciate it. I wouldn’t be where I am today without her hassling. But back then, I was mad. I was always shielding J.J. and Jevin from her, covering for them when they messed up. I learned how to forge her signature on their school notes.” She chuckled. “They were always getting them. When Nana’s network of church friends told her what they’d done, it was me who dried their tears and told them they were good enough.”
I tried to picture Jamila as a stand-in mother. She was such a force at work, driving everyone to be their best. With Jackson and Cooper, she was intense, too, but I remembered moments when she encouraged them with a slap on their backs or when she comforted them with a hug. I could imagine her doing the same with her brothers. Maybe that was why she’d formed a trio with Jackson and his college roommate. Far from home, she needed a stand-in family and a pair of boys to keep out of trouble.
I let myself tug her closer to breathe in her floral scent. Her sharp shoulder poked me in the boob, but I didn’t care. “You were right. They did great. So did you.”
“We did all right.”
“Better than all right.” Then I asked her what I’d been curious about ever since I’d seen her home. “Is that why you bought this place? Because you sent all your money home to support your family?”
“That’s part of it. I didn’t grow up like you did. My nana lived frugally her entire life, and she’d paid off her home by the time we moved in. Her pension and what Mama sent covered food, clothes, and taxes, but there was never any extra. I saw how precarious life could be, so I chose a house I could pay cash for. It’s comfortable, and it’s all I need. It’s plenty good enough.” Her shoulders had crept up toward her ears.
I stroked a hand down her arm. “Of course it is. It’s a beautiful home. Your neighborhood is nice too. Even your neighbor with the avocados.”
“I got in trouble for that, you know. You didn’t tell me Mrs. González needed help with her tree. I got an earful the next time I saw her.”
“Oops.” When I’d seen Jamila with her sweatshirt slipping off her shoulder, I’d forgotten everything else.
“She said something about a fancy Mercedes. Isn’t that Audrey’s car? What happened to yours?”
I winced. She’d told me her story. It was time to share my own.
“I stillhave a car, technically,” I said. “You remember. My parents gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. It’s the cutest little red BMW coupe.”
“I remember all right. I never believed people gave other people actualcarsas gifts. Where do you even get a big pink bow like that?”
“I don’t know. But every one of my high school friends got a car with a bow on it.”
Jamila muttered something and shook her head. “So what happened? You crashed it?”
I sucked in a breath despite the shame that sat on my lungs like a lead crystal paperweight. “No. I met this woman on my first day of culinary school. Let’s call her…Ruby. We started as study partners. We’d meet up at a café near school and go over our notes before exams. I went over to her place one time to make pies. I couldn’t get the crust right, and she had a way with it. Her crusts were flaky and tender and…magical.” I sighed, remembering.
“My nana always made a good pie crust,” Jamila said. “I never got the knack of it.”
“It’s hard, right? Anyway, we hung out after to watchThe Great British Bake Off.Everyone was talking about it, and I’d never seen it before. She teased me about it, then she started tickling me, and then all of a sudden, we were kissing.” She tasted buttery like her pie crust.
Jamila stroked my knee.
I was glad she couldn’t see my flaming cheeks in the dark. “The next week, I got to the café late, and she saw me drive up in my BMW. It’s, you know, not very subtle in the neighborhood around the college. She asked me about it, so I told her how my parents gave it to me.”
Jamila sat up. “You didn’t.”
