Lovers' Dance (80 page)

“How much did this food cost?” Jenny said, lifting the cover off one tray. “It must have cost a lot. You have the hook up, Matt. Did you order this yesterday?”

Matt slumped against me, arms sliding around my stomach as he murmured above my ear, “I have never been so terrified in my life. Bloody hell, poppet, I thought she was going to stab me. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” I reassured him. It was a downright lie, but I wanted him to feel better. “It was a nice thing to do, Matt.”

Jamal choked, his incredulous face staring at us. “Cuz, your man done fucked up.”

“Shut up, Jamal.”

Jamal turned to his sister. Jenny nodded as she stuck her finger in the tray before pulling it out to taste.

“Mmm, yep, Matt, you fucked up,” she confirmed.

I turned in Matt’s arms. He looked crestfallen. “It’s fine, Matt. Don’t worry about it.”

“Poppet, can you please explain exactly how I fucked up?” he asked.

“Oooh,” Jenny half-squealed. “He sounds cute cussing. Say ‘asshole.’”

“Jenny,” I said sharply before resting my hands on Matt’s chest. “You must have noticed Aunt Cleo is into her cooking. It’s a big thing for her, especially for the holidays, Matt. It’s her moment to shine. Sure it’s a lot of work, but she loves feeding her family—”

“And you smacked her pride down,” Jamal stated. “Buying this food like my ma can’t put on a good Thanksgiving spread herself. She’s been doing it for years. Madi, you know Auntie Gemma will never let her live this down. They try to outdo each other in the kitchen. Man. Don’t you know anything about a black woman’s pride in feeding her family, Matt?”

Shit. Uncle David’s sister would definitely twist the knife in further. I could see her now, making snide comments. I bet Aunt Cleo was picturing it at this moment.

“Will you two get out of here?” I let my annoyance show. They didn’t budge. I sighed and slipped a hand behind Matt’s neck, pulling his head down for a deep kiss. “It was sweet. You’re sweet.”

“She despises me now, doesn’t she?” he muttered in a low voice, so my nosy cousins couldn’t overhear.

“I’ll fix it,” I promised, kissing the tip of his nose before stepping back. I put my hands on my hips and stared at the trays of heavenly smelling food. Damn. The road to hell was paved with good intentions. I had a better understanding of that phrase now. “Okay. Jamal, what time does that soup kitchen open?”

Jamal was inspecting the contents of a few trays, licking his lips every so often. “It should be open now for the holiday. Why?”

I rolled my eyes. Why else? The dufus. “Because you’re going to take this food over there now, and I’m going to convince Auntie Cleo to start cooking. Jenny, you need to grab a mop and clean this dirt off the floor.” I frowned at the tracks. “Were those people raised in a barn? Don’t they know to wipe their feet before walking into someone’s house? Come on, people. Chop chop. Everyone will be here in a few hours.”

“Can’t we at least keep the bird?” Jamal asked with hungry longing. I had yet to look at the pièce de résistance. It felt as if it would be a betrayal to Auntie Cleo if I let my gaze rest upon it. I would weaken, I would probably start stealing little pieces of it like Jamal was planning to do.

“No,” I said firmly. “Go get changed, then load this food into your car and get it out of here. Jenny, for crying out loud. Go get the mop.”

“What shall I do, poppet?” Matt asked. He sounded unlike himself. I took a moment to look at him. My knight appeared out of sorts. Lost. I was not going to let that happen.

“Go watch TV, hon. You never have the time to relax. You can watch the parade or check out the news.” My voice drew to a stop. I closed the distance between us and rested my hand across his cheek. “It was a lovely thought, Matt. I appreciate it, and I frigging love you for it. Smile for me, knight.”

He did as ordered and straightened his shoulders.

I grinned at him. “That’s the Bradley spirit. Oo-rah.”

Matt chuckled and said in a soft voice, “I love you, Madison DuMont.”

“I know,” I murmured. “Would you like me to make you tea? I brought some over from England.”

“Does everyone believe all an English person needs to make things right is a cup of tea?” he teased. I grinned at him. My Matt was back.

“Well, the Empire was built on it,” I retorted. “Do you want the tea or not?”

“Yes, please,” he said. “I could do with a proper cup of tea.”

I laughed, blowing him a kiss before hurrying out the kitchen.

<><><>

The doorbell was ringing, and whoever was ringing it was keeping their finger on the button. The continuous chime was getting on my nerves.

“Jenny?” I yelled, using my shoulder to wipe the sweat off my forehead. The heat in the kitchen had Auntie Cleo and me perspiring. “Jennifer. Get the door.”

“Keep an eye on those yams, Madi,” Aunt Cleo warned me. I nodded, more concerned with making sure the Cornish hens were browning nicely. I peeked into the other oven. The turkey had an hour to go.

“Yay!” A raucous volley of male voices came from the sitting room. The game was on and Uncle David, his elder brother, his brother-in-law, his four nephews, Jamal and Matt were enjoying ice cold beer.

Uncle David’s younger sister, Gemma, his brother’s wife, Latisha, and his mother, Ms Regina to me, plus the two girlfriends of Latisha’s sons were in the back snug with Jenny. The older women were secretly hoping dinner would bomb. I knew it and my Aunt Cleo knew it, too. Gemma, had brought over a couple of dishes. Cheeky. Rubbing her baby-filled stomach while saying coyly, “I thought I would bring some food just in case.”

I wanted to say, “Just in case what? And why are you still popping babies out?” Her two boys were grown men. Who in their right mind would want to go through all that again?

And Latisha. Oh, how I hated that woman. She had looked at me and said to Ms Regina, “Poor girl must be starving over there in England. Look at that scrawny behind. Why that rich man of hers ain’t fattening her up?”

I would end up killing someone today.

The doorbell kept ringing.

“Argh.” I threw my hands up in the air and wiped my hands on my stained apron before storming for the front door. As I passed through the men in the sitting room, I landed a smack across a few of my cousins’ heads. Technically only Jamal was viewed as my cousin. Uncle David’s nephews were raised to view me as Cleo’s side of the family.

“Doesn’t anyone hear the front door?” I smacked Jamal a second time. He was closest to the door. “Lazy ass—”

“Watch that mouth of yours, young lady,” Uncle David called before letting out a triumphant shout at the TV, which was followed by the other men. Even Matt. I caught his piercing grey eyes and shook my head at him. He beamed at me. Glad someone was enjoying themselves.

“Yes?” I said, yanking the door open to encounter a frowning Ms Patsy. “Oh, hello, Ms Patsy. What can I—”

She bustled past me before I could finish asking why she was on our doorstep, big boobies almost knocking me over.

“Cleo.” She didn’t glance at the men, hopping over outstretched legs and feet.

I hustled after her. She looked as stressed as I felt. I should never have sent Matt’s surprise Thanksgiving dinner to the soup kitchen. I wanted to help the less fortunate but, damn, a part of me was wishing I had told Aunt Cleo to suck it up and be grateful for Matt’s gift.

Instead, I had brushed her hair and begged her to come back downstairs, pleading for her to understand that Matt was trying to earn her favour, and this was his way of trying to help out. She had come downstairs only after she pointed out, several times, how insulted she felt.

“Cleo, oh, girl. My turkey’s burnt,” Ms Patsy wailed. “I left that fool of my husband to keep an eye on it. One thing. One thing I ask him to do and he doesn’t do it.”

I had stopped in the hallway from the moment she had shouted about the burnt turkey. Oh, hell, no. Taking slow steps, I moved towards the kitchen to hear my aunt saying like a benevolent queen, “Why don’t you two join us? We have more than enough food to go around.”

I leaned heavily against the wall, feeling like I did this morning. Like a heart attack was imminent. Why? Why would she invite the street’s gossip over? I was now suspecting Ms Patsy had burnt her turkey on purpose. No self-respecting black woman was going to let her turkey burn. This was a set up. I was being set up.

“Poppet? Are you okay?” Matt was coming towards me with a beer in his hand. It looked empty.

I blinked a few times. “No, yes, I’m fine, Matt.”

“Are you certain?” he asked as he scrutinized my face. “You look a touch peaky.”

“I’m fine,” I said, this time with surety. “Are you okay is the more pertinent question. Is everyone being nice to you? Tell me if anyone is being assy and I’ll sort it.”

Matt slipped his hand behind my nape and bent down to steal a kiss. “If I can handle dealing with the department of energy back home, I think it’s suffice to say I can handle your family.”

I chewed my lower lip in pensive thought. “But you’re outnumbered in there. I mean, don’t you feel uncomfortable?”

Matt rolled his eyes. He’d been doing that a lot more now than at the beginning of our relationship. My mannerisms were rubbing off on him.

“Why would I be uncomfortable, poppet?” he asked dryly.

“Don’t make me say it,” I grumbled.

“No,” he said, with traces of amusement in his voice. “Let’s hear it. Tell me why you think I would be uncomfortable.”

I exhaled noisily through my nose. “Because you’re the only white spot on a black page. Idiot.”

Matt stared at me for a second, then started to laugh.

“Shush,” I chastised.

“Oh, poppet, I swear,”—he stole another kiss—“I did not know true humour until I met you. Absolutely delightful you are.”

“I’m glad you find me funny.” The sharp retort on the tip of my tongue got put on hold when Ms Patsy popped back into the hallway. She caught sight of me and Matt, and her face shone with pleasure.

She had set this up. Low down, no good—

“Hello again, Matthew,” she said, coming towards us.

Matt turned with a polite smile on his face. He had turned against the wall, his tight ass hidden from Ms Patsy’s hands.

“Hello and Happy Thanksgiving, by the way,” he said.

“Same to you.” She patted me on the cheek as she passed by. “I’ll be seeing you two in an hour’s time. I can’t wait to be seated around the table with everyone. We’ll have a nice catch up, Madison, and you can tell me all about this hunk of yours.”

My poor hunk was having his own cheeks squished. He looked like he was seconds away from giving Ms Patsy a stern telling off for invading his personal space. I had to do something.

“I’ll walk you out.” I grabbed her arm and sashayed her out of the house. I ignored the chorus of requests for more beer on my way to the kitchen. Matt was there, asking Aunt Cleo if there was anything he could do to assist her. A tight-lipped no was his answer. I touched his hand as we passed each other and mouthed “love you” to him. Then, it was back to cooking.

Uncle David’s mom and sister kept popping into the kitchen, getting underfoot and making nice-but-not-really-nice comments to Aunt Cleo. When Latisha stationed herself by the door leading out back, I knew it was a matter of time before tempers became frayed. I prayed the food would be done by then and people would be too busy eating to argue.

Thanksgiving was like a warm-up run to Christmas, and everyone knew the drama that came with Christmas. Too much alcohol loosening too many tongues. A sharp comment here that leads to a potential fight. I hoped this warm-up was peaceful.

“—thinks she’s too good for us now,” I overheard coming from the snug.

I had been on my way to the back of the house where the extra-long table that had been used to lay the food out for last night’s party was now being dressed for our meal. I paused outside the partially open door, clutching the lace tablecloth Auntie Cleo had instructed me to put down.

“—nothing more than a glorified hoe.”

That couldn’t be me being referred to? It couldn’t. Then I heard Jenny’s voice joining in.

“You know he’s gonna leave her ass for a white girl.”

They laughed. More of a cackle, like hyenas. I kicked the door open with my foot, tablecloth clutched in my arms, as I glared at Jenny and the two girlfriends of Latisha’s sons sipping wine.

“Excuse me?” My voice was higher than normal. “I know you’re not talking about me in here.”

They looked startled for a second before they smirked amongst themselves.

“Girl, we’re keeping it real,” Rashid’s girlfriend said. I think her name was Sharon, maybe Shonda.

“Who are you again? You don’t know me so don’t talk about my business like it’s yours.”

“Madi, chill out,” Jenny drawled, getting up from the chair she’d been curled in.

“Don’t tell me to ‘chill out’, Jen,” I snarled. “I’m your blood. Why the hell are you talking about me with these strangers?”

“Stranger?” The other one—I couldn’t remember her name—said, “Who is she calling a stranger? We’re part of this family—”