Man Enough For Me (11 page)

Or maybe it would amp her up.

She had better not take that chance. No, Germaine definitely wouldn’t be going to this one.

But on Sunday morning, with the stress of the evening’s event taking a toll on her, Jules felt herself caving in.

“Hello?” Germaine mumbled, clearly still half asleep. It was 6 a.m., and she knew he was probably wondering who could be calling him at that hour on a Sunday morning.

“It’s me, Jules.”

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” he asked, only slightly more alert.

“I need you,” Jules said, working hard to keep calm despite the feeling of panic building in her gut.

“Huh?”

“Can you come with me? Later? To my mom’s?” Jules asked.
“She wants me to come for dinner. And I know it’s last minute, and I really wasn’t going to ask you, because I thought it was too soon for you to meet her, but I can’t do my mom by myself. I mean I won’t be completely by myself, my brother will be there, but he really doesn’t count ‘cause she likes him—”

“Jules, it’s okay,” Germaine said, stopping her in the midst of her ramble. Jules’s poorly disguised anxiety had fully awoken him.

“Okay? Does that mean yes? You’ll come?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Okay. You can pick me up at five,” she said, hanging up the phone before he had a chance to protest.

Eleven hours later Germaine was knocking on Jules’s apartment door. On the second knock, the door flew open and a restless Jules stood before him.

She looked absolutely gorgeous in wedges and a loose-fitting, yellow halter dress. However, it didn’t take much for Germaine to realize that she was more than a little uncomfortable.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, as he stepped inside.

“Yeah, sure, I’m fine.” Jules tried to force a smile. He saw right through it.

“Come here,” he murmured as he pulled her into an embrace. Jules wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, rubbing her back soothingly. Jules sighed. If he knew what she did, he wouldn’t be so sure.

“Let’s go,” Jules said.

“So there are some things you need to know,” Jules continued once they were in the car and on the way to Whitby. “Here are the rules—”

Germaine laughed. “There are rules?”

Jules looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Was he serious?

“Of course there are rules,” Jules said incredulously. “And you plan to come out of this evening alive, then you better follow them.”

Germaine shook his head.

“Okay, so here goes. My mother will ask you a million questions. Attempt to answer all of them. If you don’t, she’ll think you’re rude. Some of them will be very personal; don’t be alarmed or offended. It’s just her way. She will ask you what you do. At no point can you call the Lounge a nightclub, or a disco. No matter how you try to spin it, she will think you’re working for the devil—”

“So what am I supposed to call it?” Germaine asked with a laugh as he switched lanes and got off the highway.

Jules bit her lip thoughtfully.

“Say it’s a record store with a café, where you have small events sometimes.”

“Café … Wow. I never heard it described like that before,” Germaine said dryly. “What if she starts asking more questions about the type of events and artists we have there? What if she asks about the bar or if there’s dancing—”

“No!” Jules exclaimed, her eyes wide open. “No talk of bars, or dancing. You know what, maybe you shouldn’t talk about the Lounge at all. If she asks, you sell CDs, end of story.”

Germaine let out a whistle. “Was your mother that strict growing up?”

“No, actually, she wasn’t,” Jules said. “That developed after my father left. I guess she felt that she had to be both mother and father to me and Davis to keep us in check. And somehow even though me and Davis are both grown, she still tries to micromanage our lives.”

He turned the car down the street where Jules grew up.

“Is that why you avoid her?” he asked, glancing away from the road to look at her.

“I don’t avoid her,” Jules corrected. “I just prefer to have her in manageable doses, which is what happens when there are enough people around to dilute her intensity.”

“Does Davis feel the same way?”

Jules laughed. “Oh, no. Davis is the golden child. He can do no wrong.”

Germaine parked the car where Jules indicated and shut off the engine. He leaned across and kissed her gently.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he reassured her.

“Thanks,” Jules said, kissing him back before opening the car door. “By the way, you can’t do that either.”

Jules took a deep breath and looked up nervously at the two-story home she had grown up in as she waited for Germaine to lock the car. She had to admit, despite the interesting relationship she had with her mother, she had a lot of good memories of the past. She looked down at her watch and bit her lip.

“We’re late,” she murmured anxiously as she and Germaine walked up the curving stone pathway that led to the front door of Momma Jackson’s blue and white, split level house.

“Baby, it’s just five minutes after six,” Germaine said, laughing lightly. “I’m sure you’re mom won’t even notice.”

“You don’t know my mom,” Jules said, knocking firmly on the front door. “She’ll notice.”

The door swung open to reveal a tall, dark, built young man, who looked slightly younger than Jules, but bore a striking resemblance to her.

“Hey, Davis,” Jules said, reaching up to hug her younger brother.

“Hey, Jewel,” he replied, as he returned the embrace. Jules smiled at her brother’s nickname for her. He had started calling her that when he was three and couldn’t properly pronounce her name. It had stuck ever since.

“You’re late,” he said, raising his eyebrow at her knowingly.

“See, I told you,” Jules said, looking back at Germaine accusingly. Instead of responding to her, Germaine stretched out a hand to introduce himself.

“Hi, I’m—”

“Germaine, the boyfriend,” Davis said, shaking Germaine’s hand. “Jules told me you weren’t coming.”

“Yes, well, you know Jules,” Germaine said smirking. “She tends to change her mind a lot.”

“Don’t I know it,” Davis said, laughing. “She didn’t call you this morning, did she?”

It was Germaine’s turn to laugh.

“I don’t think I should answer that,” he said chuckling, as he glanced over at Jules who was glaring at them both with her hands on her hips.

“Davis! Boy, I know I taught you better than to hold conversations with guests on my doorstep,” a strong voice said from somewhere inside the house. “You think I want them nosy neighbors up in my business?”

“No, ma’am. I’ll be right there,” Davis said, his eyebrows arched in amusement. “You sure you want to come in? This is your last chance to back out,” Davis teased.

Jules grabbed a hold of Germaine’s wrist in case he gave the idea any consideration.

“He’s not going anywhere,” she said, pulling him inside.

They followed Davis into the main dining room where Keisha was helping bring dishes from the kitchen to the elegantly spread dining table.

“Jules!” Keisha exclaimed, taking off her oven mitts and hugging Jules tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Jules knew that what Keisha meant was:
I’m so glad I don’t have to be alone with Momma Jackson anymore.

Momma Jackson loved Keisha to death, but sometimes it was too much love for Keisha to handle.

“Jules, sugar, is that you?” Momma Jackson called. Jules could hear her footsteps as she made her way toward the dining room.

“Baby girl, you late, as usual. Didn’t I tell you six—” Momma Jackson stopped short when she saw her unexpected guest.

“Well, Jules, you didn’t tell me you were bringing company. If you had I would have been on my best behavior,” she said, laughing but not sounding the least bit ashamed to be caught being herself. “And who might you be?” she asked, smiling at Germaine.

“I’m Germaine,” he said, flashing a wide smile as he reached out to take Momma Jackson’s hand. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Momma Jackson said, in a manner
that Jules could only describe as an attempt at demureness. Davis snorted, and Jules rolled her eyes. Momma Jackson had never been demure a day in her life.

“Please don’t mind my children,” Momma Jackson said, throwing a warning glance at Davis and Jules. “Despite my best efforts they still have trouble acting right around company.”

Germaine laughed. “Well, I don’t think your efforts have totally been in vain. Jules has been very well behaved on all the occasions we’ve been out,” Germaine said with a hint of mischief that only Jules caught. It was her turn to give him a warning look.

“And how many times has that been?” Momma Jackson asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

“Momma, I know you must have spent all day on dinner. Let me help you get the rest of it on the table before it gets cold,” Jules said, in an effort to divert her mother’s attention.

Jules’s mother looked as if she might continue questioning Germaine, but seemed to think better of it.

“All right, sugar,” Momma Jackson said, waving a finger at Germaine teasingly. “Thanks to your girl here, you’re off the hook … for now.”

Jules didn’t miss the relief that crossed Germaine’s face as she steered Momma Jackson toward the kitchen. From behind her she heard Davis try to lighten the mood.

“Come on, man, let me give you a tour of the place,” he said, clapping Germaine on the back and leading him down the hall. Keisha tried to look busy fixing the table settings, even though there was nothing to be fixed. Jules knew she was just avoiding going back into the kitchen. That meant Jules was on her own.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing that man over here with you?” Momma Jackson asked once they were back in the kitchen. “Better yet, why didn’t you tell me you had a man?”

“Because it wasn’t that serious at the time,” Jules said, moving past her mother to her aunt, who was dishing out steaming hot rice and peas into a large porcelain bowl.

“Hey, Aunty Sharon,” Jules said, wrapping her arms around the short woman’s ample waist.

She loved her Aunt Sharon. Even though she looked unnervingly like Momma Jackson, she was the exact opposite of her younger sister. Where Momma Jackson was sharp and straightforward, Aunt Sharon was gentle and appeasing.

She had never been married; however, she had two children, both older than Jules, who lived in New York. Her youngest child had moved out not too long after Davis had gone to college, and since both she and Momma Jackson had no husbands, they figured they would keep each other company. Aunty Sharon had been living with Momma Jackson ever since.

“Hi, sugar. How you doing?” Aunt Sharon asked, kissing Jules on the cheek.

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Blessed and highly favored child, blessed and highly favored.”

“Don’t think you going to get away by sweet talking your aunt, Miss Jules. I want to hear about this boy of yours,” Momma Jackson interrupted. “Tell me about him.”

Jules sighed heavily.

“There’s not much to tell.”

“There’s always something to tell,” Momma Jackson said, as she sliced up the cornbread that was to go on the table with the rest of the dinner. “Where does he go to church? I know you didn’t bring no heathen up in my house.”

“He goes to Apple Creek,” Jules said, shaking her head at her mother. She could never understand why Momma Jackson needed to use twenty words to ask a question that only required ten.

“So where did you meet him?”

Instead of answering her mother’s question, Jules carried the bowl of rice and peas out of the kitchen to the table.

“Dinner’s ready!” she called out quickly before her mother could follow her with another round of questioning.

Within moments the six of them were congregated in the
dining area. Momma Jackson had spread a thick, beautiful wine-colored cloth over the table, with cream-colored napkins and plates. Her heavy silverware, which she had gotten as a wedding present, sparkled just as much as the six gleaming wine goblets positioned around the table. Momma Jackson always set her entire table, regardless of how many people she knew would be coming. She did it for the same reason she always cooked too much food. According to her, you never knew who might drop by and you should always be prepared. Nonetheless, Davis always teased Jules that Momma Jackson set the extra place in hope that Jules would bring home some guy to fill it. In this case, Momma Jackson’s hope had been fulfilled.

The table dressings were remarkable on their own, but they dulled in comparison to the spread of food. Momma Jackson and Aunt Sharon had outdone themselves, with rice and peas, steamed vegetables, roasted chicken, curried mutton, potato salad, macaroni and cheese, coleslaw, sliced tomatoes, fried plantain, and cornbread. And Jules was almost sure that she had glimpsed cheesecake and a tray of fresh fruits in the fridge when she had been in the kitchen earlier.

“Wow, Momma, you went all out,” Davis said, clearly impressed with the spread. Living away from home, he rarely got to experience food like this. And even though he knew how to cook, being spoiled by all the women in his life had made him less inclined to do so.

“Well, you know how your momma do,” Momma Jackson said with a wide smile. “Sugar, you come sit over here by me,” she said motioning to Germaine.

When everyone was settled around the table, she motioned for them to hold hands.

“Okay, let’s say grace,” Momma Jackson said. “Germaine, since you’re new here, you can do the honors.”

Davis and Jules looked at each other in surprise. Momma Jackson never let anyone but herself say the grace over their family dinners. She must really like Germaine.

“Let us pray,” Germaine said, bowing his head. “Dear heavenly Father, thank You so much for this meal that You have provided
for us. Thank You for blessing us with good food to eat even though there are those who are not as fortunate. Help us not to take this for granted, and to be grateful for this gift. Please bless the hands that prepared it, and even more so bless this time that we will spend with each other. All these things we ask in Your Son’s name, amen.”