The Kwanzaa Brunch, a Holiday Novella

by DL White

  Damn. I could have been having dinner with her tonight.

  5

  Sienna

  * * *

  “And so… who is Tara?”

  Faith was only halfway listening while she whisked gravy in a saucepan. She hadn’t even changed out of the white coat she wore at The Chef’s Table, her catering company. How she could cook all day, then come home and cook for her family and still keep her coat a bright and spotless white was a feat of strength I could never achieve. I wore a hoodie to lunch because my chest caught food like nets caught shrimp.

  “I need you to keep up,” I ranted from my favorite spot, a perch at the corner of Faith and Anthony’s kitchen island, sipping on a glass of Miraval Provence Rosé while watching her make art with food. Her smothered chicken and rice already smelled delicious, and she wasn’t even finished cooking.

  “Okay, so you tried to ask him out, but he was talking to someone named Tara? Does she work at Precision?”

  “No! He got a phone call. He called her Tara when he picked up the phone. Then he dismissed me, cause clearly he’d rather talk to some bitch than go out with me.”

  Faith burst into laughter. “Why’s she gotta be a bitch, Sienna?”

  “Because he would rather talk to her than go out with me!”

  “Honey, I think that’s enough wine for you. Anthony said you didn’t hardly eat anything at lunch and I think it’s going to your head.”

  I gulped the last swallow before she could take the glass away. “I ate. I just didn’t eat what Anthony ate. Did he tell you about the cake?”

  She snorted, still whisking and adjusting the heat. “He sent me a picture. Throw the whole cake away.”

  “Throw the whole brunch away.”

  “I mean, there is never a work appropriate occasion for a four tier cake.”

  Faith shook her head, then poured the prepared gravy over the baked chicken filets and slid the pan into the oven. “I’m going to let those cook together…. check my rice and my broccoli…”

  She always mumbled to herself when she cooked, so I paid no attention while she lifted lids on pots and pans and cooking devices.

  “Did he also tell you that you owe me a pan of sweet rolls? That was his bribe to even get me to go downstairs.”

  “Of course not. That’s one of those things he pretends he forgot to tell me until we’re in bed and I am half asleep.” Faith turned then, grabbing a wine glass for herself and topping us both off before sliding my glass back over to me. With one hand, she unbuttoned her coat and used the other to deliver her glass to her lips.

  She hung her jacket on the back of the chair next to me and climbed up, breathing a short, nearly inaudible sigh. On cue, Anthony wandered into the kitchen.

  “Ay fam,” said Anthony, giving me his usual greeting, accompanied by a fist bump. He grabbed a glass and poured the last of the wine into one.

  “Hey, babe,” Faith muttered through the kiss he dropped onto her lips. “Open a new bottle so it can breathe for a few minutes before dinner.”

  I watched Anthony follow her instructions, pulling a bottle from the wine fridge in the corner of the kitchen. As he bent over, I shook my head and clicked my tongue. “Faith, you need to tell your husband that married men don’t wear gray sweats. They’re single girl thirst traps.”

  “First,” said Faith, her index finger in the air. “Keep your eyes in your head and off of my husband. Second… I like those sweats on him. Married women like to look. Thirst trap, indeed.”

  She sipped her wine loudly, then smacked her lips and winked at me. “When you get yourself a steady gentleman, you’ll understand.”

  “I understand now. I’ve seen grey sweats before. I don’t need to be looking at my best friend’s husband’s ass in them.”

  “In this house,” shouted Anthony, while trying not to laugh, “I wear the sweats that my wife bought me so I may cause her to thirst for me. And you’ve got a lot to say for someone that showed up at my house to eat after you only had cheese and crackers for lunch.”

  “I ate,” I protested. “I just didn’t eat that mess y’all ate. By the way, I saw Booker on my way out of the building, moaning like he was miserable. He said he was just hungry, but…”

  “Oh boy,” said Anthony, settling onto the stool next to me, while Faith hopped off to check the oven. “Here we go with this dude.”

  “Wait, who is Booker?”

  “Booker is the guy I was telling you about! That was talking to Tara?”

  “Oh, okay. The new snack at Precision with the shoulders and the chest and the swarthy accent. I kind of want to meet this Booker.”

  “I am not listening to this portion of this conversation,” said Anthony.

  “Turns out, he’s Anthony’s trainee. A trainee that he appears to have been hiding from the women in his life.”

  “I ain’t hidin’ nobody. I didn’t know there would be so much interest in a new dude at work.”

  “And what do you mean, here we go?”

  “You know exactly what I mean by here we go.”

  “No, I don’t.” I twisted in the chair, the better to see him. “Elaborate on here we go.”

  “Oh, Sienna…” Faith started, closing the oven door, then turning to face us both.

  “What?” I asked, my gaze now bouncing from one to the other.

  “You… you’re just kind of a man-eater,” said Anthony, more quietly than he would normally make a declaration about me.

  “I’m a what?”

  “You heard me,” said Anthony. “Not even kind of a man-eater. You’re a literal, whole man-eater. You just gobble a dude up, spit him out. You’re a player. You go through men like… I don’t know, like a person who goes through a lot of things.”

  “Wait… what? Faith! Friend since college! You’re co-signing this man-eater bullshit?”

  “Well, honey…” She cringed, frowning. “You are a player. I mean, I love your dating stories, but you’re getting up there in age.”

  “You say that shit like it’s time to put me out to pasture. I date, yeah. I date a lot. I have a good time. How am I supposed to find a steady gentleman, as you put it, if I don’t date? That makes me a player?”

  “No,” said Anthony. “That makes you a woman that dates. A lot. What makes you a player is ignoring a man who is worth your time to spend three nights a week with a dumbass who’s just hoping to end up at your place afterwards.”

  “I don’t know why you think I’m ignoring men worth my time. When I meet a man who is interested in more than hanging out and having sex, I’ll explore that. Meanwhile, I’m cute and I’m a good time.”

  I crinkled my nose and stared at them both. “You mean I should go without sex because men are shallow?”

  “Sienna, honey…”

  “Uh uh! Don’t Sienna honey, me! I thought we were friends.”

  “We are! It’s just… sex is so meaningful when you’re with someone you genuinely care about, that you’re building something with.”

  Faith crossed the kitchen to stand next to Anthony, who dropped a kiss on her cheek.

  “You two make me sick,” I grumbled into my glass.

  Anthony’s smug grin irritated me to my core. “This could be you, but you’re a player.”

  “She buys you one pair of grey sweat pants and now you’re a relationship expert. So, I’m not seriously pursuing The One or whatever. What does that have to do with Booker?”

  “You work with him,” said Anthony. “You can’t just blow through a cute dude that you work with.”

  “We won’t be working together after we move to your new account profile.”

  “You’ll still see him. If things go south—”

  “I don’t burn my bridges. A guy I dated last year just got married. I went to his wedding and everything. Got them a real nice gift, like the adult I am. I’m happy as fuck for him.”

  Anthony chuckled. “Oh, you sound it.”

  “I am. I don’t have an emotional
attachment to the men I date.”

  “And that’s the problem,” said Faith, jumping in to point with a pair of cooking tongs. “The men that you would form an emotional attachment with are the ones you run from. You don’t know how to handle those men. They’re not into cute and a good time and you’re scared you’ll waste actual emotion and time and effort on someone who won’t return them. That’s always been your problem.”

  “You don’t know me or my life,” I mumbled. Then swallowed more wine and sulked, tracing the pattern of marbling on the island countertop.

  But damn if they didn’t just read me like the Sunday edition of the New York Times.

  I’d known Faith and Anthony since my first day on campus at Albany State. I met Faith in the registration line and it turned out that we lived on the same floor of the same dorm.

  We remained close, even after graduation, after their wedding and Faith’s training in Paris. When they returned to Atlanta, and Anthony signed on at a fledgeling software company, he convinced them he needed an analyst to manage his accounts and sent my resume in.

  The Thomas’ had seen me through thick and thicker, through years of hot girl summers, through long and short bouts of dating. I was good for a fun and funny man story, but Faith was right. And so was Anthony. They’d seen me through more than a few relationships that would have had me living the blissfully mundane married life if I wasn’t so chickenshit about feeling emotions and letting walls down.

  My biggest fear was falling for someone as hard as they had fallen for each other, but having to do the walk of shame in Divorce Court years later. I wanted what they had. What my parents had.

  And if I couldn’t get that, guaranteed… I just couldn’t risk my heart on a maybe.

  “Booker asked about you after lunch.”

  I rolled my eyes up to Anthony, knowing my expression would compel him to finish his thought. To his benefit, he did so without me having to ask. He lifted and lowered his bulky shoulders, then added, “I told him I couldn’t help him get to know you. He’s not ready for Sienna Charles.”

  “Anthony!” I sputtered, half out of anger, half out of embarrassment that he had said that to Booker. About me. “So… great. He probably thinks I’m crazy, cockblocker.”

  “Maybe I did you a favor. He doesn’t read as the type to hang out, hoping he’ll end up at your place. I don’t know if I want to play matchmaker here.”

  “It has all the markings of a nightmare,” grumbled Faith, finally pulling the pan of chicken out of the oven. “Girls!” She called to her daughters. “Wash your hands!”

  I climbed down from the bar chair and joined Anthony and Faith in our usual pre-dinner tasks. I set the table with plates and silverware while Anthony took care of milk for the girls and fresh pours for the rest of us. Faith set the pan of chicken and a bowl of rice and steamed vegetables at the center of the table.

  “Why did you shush me when I said you should invite him to your New Year’s Eve dinner? He’s new to town, and he wasn’t wearing a ring. He’s probably not doing anything.”

  Anthony smirked. “I don’t know that dude. And, like I said, I don’t know if I want to be the connection between you two. I already know he’ll gravitate to you, because that’s what men do. I don’t want to be responsible for whatever happens if you two spend time together.”

  “Saidah and Will are coming, right?” I brought up the third member of our friend group from college, who had met her husband at Christmas two years ago at the Thomas house. “They just got married and they’re stupid happy.”

  “I don’t know if I can take credit for them.” Anthony grimaced, rubbing a palm over his closely cut hair. “I didn’t even invite Will. And Saidah wasn’t supposed to come to dinner that year—”

  “Oh, please. You brag about bringing them together to anyone who will listen.”

  “Okay, yes. They’re a success story. But they wanted the same thing, and they were wide open to a relationship. Neither one of them were playing.”

  “You act like I set out to destroy men. I’m literally just out here dating. I’m just saying…”

  Anthony passed the dish of smothered chicken to me. I served myself a generous portion, then added a spoonful of rice and some vegetables. Once everyone had been served, heads had bowed for grace and risen again, and the girls were chatting amongst themselves, Anthony prodded.

  “You’re just saying?”

  “I’m not conceding that you’re right. I think man-eater is a bit much. But I have noticed that my personal life is mundane. Repetitive. Groundhog’s Day. Maybe I could try to get to know someone new, who’s not the same as everyone I’ve…. gotten to know,” I finished, watching the girls watching me out of the corner of my eye.

  “Maybe we should invite him, honey?” said Faith, finally coming over to my side. “Like Sienna said, it would be a nice gesture. I know how you work and you’ve probably been driving him hard.”

  “Fine.” Anthony tossed up his hands in defeat. “But I don’t want to know if this goes sideways and I don’t want you in my office or at my house talking about him either way. I do not want updates.”

  “I want updates,” said Faith, grinning with her wine glass held aloft for a toast.

  6

  Booker

  * * *

  Much later than I’d intended, full of a gourmet burger, fries, and more than a few drinks from a restaurant down the street, I walked through my front door. There were plenty of good food spots to choose from, and I was making my way through them all. I dropped my bag and didn’t give it another thought as I toed my shoes off. I left them at the door too and tossed my keys on the counter as I passed it.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket, wincing at the number of missed calls, texts and WhatsApp messages. I dropped onto the couch, reached for the remote and kicked my feet up on to the coffee table, turning on the TV before thumbing a security code into my phone.

  SportsCenter blared through the surround sound speakers as I scrolled past all the calls and messages from Tara. Eventually, I was going to block her, but for now, I supposed it made me feel good to know that she realized she’d lost a good man. Part of me loved to see her beg for me to come back.

  The rest of me felt like shit for enjoying her pain. But then I knew she wasn’t really in pain. She was fuming that she wasn’t getting her way and couldn’t use me anymore.

  I popped open a running chat I had with my boys back in Baton Rouge.

  Ryan: What’s up with Booker? Hotlanta ate him up?

  Greg: Ain’t heard from Booker in days. He said he’s in training or whatever. Anybody think he’s training somebody on how to give him head?

  Jordan: #Sweatergawd G gotta bring up head every day.

  Ryan: A sign he ain’t getting any.

  Greg: Y’all don’t get none either.

  Jordan: I’m not part of that y’all. Ayanna… well. You know.

  Ryan: #also. I would tell y’all about Nalah’s head game but you dudes gossip too much. Be telling all my secrets.

  I chuckled, then tapped to post a reply.

  Booker: Only fools not from Atlanta call it Hotlanta, fool. You gotta kill that before you come through.

  Ryan: Ayyyyyy! What’s good?

  Booker: Not much. Training is kicking my ass, but the gig is real good.

  Jordan: Hey, Book. Gig is better than 2X?

  I grinned at the phone, taking pleasure in typing out my braggadocios response.

  Booker: In every way. A nice bump in salary, the mood seems good so far. Cafeteria and a nice coffee spot on the first floor. I get my office tomorrow. We had some kinda kwanzaa thing today, if that says anything. And no Tara Dupree.

  Jordan: That’s the best perk right there.

  Booker: She’s blowing up my phone tho.

  Greg: Still? Ain’t it been like a year?

  Jordan: Got your hooks in her. Now she can’t let go.

  Ryan: Told you not to marry that girl.

  I had t
o give the nod to Ryan. He told me all the way up to five minutes before we walked into the courthouse.

  Booker: Yeah, you told me that. You want a cookie or some shit for being right?

  Ryan: Yeah. Send me my got damn cookies! She still big mad you signed those papers?

  Booker: Big mad. Tryna come back and shit. Hell no.

  Greg: You won, though. Going to the competition to make mo’ money.

  Booker: Yeah, I’m hype to push Double X off the leaderboard. Any way I can help Precision make that move, I’m on that.

  Booker: What else is up out there? We bout to watch Bron run this game?

  I laughed out loud, reading the day-to-day antics of my friends back home while we watched the Lakers stomp the Miami Heat. I missed my boys more than I thought I would, but I had to make the move that was best for me.

  Besides, the plan was for all of us to leave Louisiana. Whoever left first would scope out a new spot, and if all went well, the rest would follow. Ryan and Greg would be in Atlanta within the year. Jordan was married and his wife would have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, from Baton Rouge.

  Not a big deal, though. Ayanna was all about Jordan getting time away with his friends. We would see plenty of him.

  Booker: Good game, good game. Bron makes a Lakers game watchable.

  Ryan: You a sucka, Book. Just admit you’re coming around.

  Booker: Never. What you about to do?

  Ryan: Nalah back there whining because I’m on the internet and watching basketball. I guess I gotta go be #boyfriendgoals.

  Greg: Head.

  Jordan: Gettin some?

  Greg: Nawl. Just haven’t mentioned it lately.

  Booker: I’m about to turn in and let you fools clown Greg. Peace.

  I didn’t even wait for them to say goodnight. I locked the phone and heaved myself up from the couch, ignoring the empty water bottles and the glass I’d left on the coffee table, and headed down the hall to the bedroom.

  I went into the master bathroom and turned on the shower, but a ping from my phone drew my attention. It was the standard text tone, which meant it was someone unfamiliar.