“She did. Had me almost catching the Holy Ghost by the hot cocoa,” Ola Kate muttered.
He ignored her. “This year… we got a lot to be grateful for. Some of it came easy. Some of it came hard. We got new little ones at this table, new arrangements, new chances.” His gaze flicked to Aziza, then to Kyleigh and me. “I’m thankful for every one of them.”
He nodded, bowed his head, and prayed. It was simple and honest. Thanked God for protection, for food, for stubborn women and hard-headed men, for second chances, for trees on hills and light in dark places. When he said Aziza’s name, my throat closed up for a second.
“Amen,” the room echoed.
Plates started getting passed like the place had been rehearsing for days. In a way, it had.
“Let me fix your plate, baby,” Kyleigh offered.
“You not on servant duty. You the honored guest.”
“Please. I am the town villain on parole. Hand me a spoon.”
“You not a villain no more. You the mysterious lady of the hill. That’s different” Akeira called from down the table, a hand on her very pregnant belly. Ajani nodded as he rubbed her back.
“Sounds like an upgrade. Next year, aim for beloved recluse,” Brae teased.
“I’m aiming for peaceful homeowner,” Kyleigh shot back, giving me way too many greens and not enough hot water cornbread.
Aziza leaned toward her. “Mama, can I stay a beloved niece, please?”
“You already are,” Zahara murmured.
She scooped extra mac and cheese on Aziza’s plate just to prove it. Watching them, it hit me again how close we’d come to missing all of this. To being hostile strangers passing each other in holiday traffic. I slid my hand under the table, brushed my fingers against Kyleigh’s thigh. She tossed me a smile, still arguing with Braeden about whether potato salad should be yellow or white.
“Yellow,” she insisted.
“White.”
“You on the wrong side of the tracks with that answer,” she told him.
“Both of y’all wrong,” Ola Kate said. “It’s beige and it’s mine, pass it down.”
The room rolled. Somebody turned on music in the living room. Kids shouted for no reason. My cousin Truth tried to sneak another roll and got his hand popped by Katelyn like he was six.
Normal. Loud. Messy. Beautiful.
Dinner went on like that, stories, jokes, people out-talking the music. At some point, Aziza hopped from the kids’ table to squeeze herself between me and Kyleigh.
“I like it here,” she said around a mouthful of dressing.
“You like where the food at,” I teased, kissing her jaw.
“Yes. That too.” Then, softer, “I like the people, too.”
Kyleigh kissed the side of her head. “You got good taste, baby.”
Aziza looked up at my daddy. “PopPop,” she said like she was testing out the name. “Can I have another piece of ham?”
He damn near melted. “Zahara, give my grandbaby the whole ham.”
“No, she cannot. Her mama gon’ fight us,” Mama argued, smacking his arm.
Aziza pointed at Ola Kate’s plate. “She has three pieces.”
“I am grown and legendary. With privilege comes ham,” Ola Kate declared imperiously.
