by Unknown
He gives me a smirk. “So you’re Mýa. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. According to Mary, you’re more like their daughter than a friend of the family.”
I feel his eyes taking me in, too, from my heels resting on the counter to the red lipstick that I decided to wear today. “Jack and Mary are my family,” I finally say.
“Well then, I guess that means we’re related. But I’m glad it’s not by blood,” he says with a smile that shows off a dimple in his left cheek that mimics Jack’s.
I hope he’s not trying to flirt with me.
I hand him an apple out of the basket on the counter. “Peace offering.”
He smiles again as he takes the apple. I can’t help but notice that his dimple grows even deeper as he takes a bite out of it. “Thanks.”
“Again, I’m sorry about the ‘quirky’ comment,” I say, still trying to redeem myself.
“No worries, really.” He looks over at Mary as he takes another bite from the apple and I force myself to focus on something other than him. “That sauce is good,” he continues. “Throw some fresh garlic and butter in there for some serious pop. Where’s my Uncle Jack? Still asleep?”
“Great idea,” Mary says as she turns to the refrigerator to grab them both. “Jack will be up in a few. You and Mýa can go ahead and set the table for me. Everything is there on counter next to her.”
“Sure,” Matt says. As he makes his way over, I get a faint whiff of his cologne. “Do you cook, Mýa?”
“Mýa is a great cook. Her mother taught her,” Mary says as Matt grabs the plates and I stand to pick up the silverware and the glasses.
I look over at Mary suspiciously, and she pretends she suddenly needs to grab something out of the refrigerator.
“I love to cook. I just recently started dabbling with recipes after Mary encouraged me.”
“Bad breakup, huh?”
I’m going to kill Mary. “We’re not broken up—just trying to work some things out, that’s all. It’s complicated.”
“Most breakups are complicated,” Matt says as we enter the dining room.
“Again, we’re not broken up.”
“But he told you that you could keep the ring, right?”
I put the silverware and the cups on the table with perhaps a little more force than is necessary. “Okay, so how much of my love life did Mary tell you about?”
He grins. “I got here early this morning, and we’ve been chatting since they came back from the doctor. So probably all of it.”
“Great,” I say, thoroughly embarrassed and slightly irritated at Mary for telling him my business.
“It’s okay. I just went through something similar.”
“I doubt it.”
“At least you said yes when he asked.”
“Oh. Sorry,” I say with a wince. “I’m sure that was tough.”
“Her name is Laura. She’s one of the sous chefs at the restaurant I worked for.”
“Ouch,” I say as I pull out the nicer placemats that Mary keeps in the china cabinet and arrange them on the table so that Matt can put the plates down.
“‘Ouch’ is right. In the end, things took a pretty ugly turn—what with me being the head chef and all.”
“So, is that why you’re here? To get away from it all?”
“Maybe, but mainly because there are some important things here that need my help.”
“Important things? Like what?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.
“Just family stuff.”
“Oh, I see.”
Now it’s Matt’s turn to wince. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it might have sounded. I know you’re a part of this family.”
“It’s okay. I understood what you meant.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. Anyway, I figure my coming gives me a chance to make amends with Uncle Jack. I’m sure Mary told you the story of how I became the black sheep of the family.”
“Black sheep?”
His face turns the color of a beet. “I keep putting my foot in my mouth, don’t I? Again, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“Got you back,” I say with a smirk.
“Funny. I like a woman with a good sense of humor.”
Our eyes meet in the middle of the table, but I look away.
Okay. Yes, he’s flirting with me.
“Glad to see you two getting along so well,” Jack says as he comes into the dining room.
Matt’s shoulders tense up, but he offers his hand to Jack anyway. “Uncle Jack, it’s good to see you.”
Jack looks down at Matt’s extended hand, but refuses to take it. “It’s been fifteen years, and you think we’re just going to shake hands like all is well between us?”
“Uncle Jack, can’t we let the past stay in the past?”
“You thought you were better than me!” Jack lets his hand fall flat on the table, rattling the glasses.
Mary walks into the dining room with her dish gripped firmly between two oven mitts. “That’s enough, Jack. Everyone take a seat, please. We’re going to have dinner like the grown-ups I know we are.” She glares at Jack. “Right?”
“I’m not making any promises,” he grumbles.
“It smells good, Mary. I can’t wait to taste it,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood as we sit down to eat.
This is my first time experiencing complete silence at Jack and Mary’s table.
“That was good, Mary,” Jack says as he reaches over and squeezes her hand.
“Why don’t we put some music on while we eat dessert?” I say, trying to dispel the frosty air that seems to be lingering from Jack and Matt’s earlier spat.
“I hear music and pie go well together,” Matt chimes in.
“They do, don’t they?” I say, thankful that he’s willing to play along.
“Are you going to sing for us after we’re done, Mýa?” Matt asks.
I look at Mary, who starts to fidget in her seat. “I only told him because I am so proud of you.”
I sigh and then smile at her. “I know. It’s okay.”
“But I forgot to tell him that you just landed a gig at a new jazz restaurant near Perimeter Mall, so you’ll only be working at Jack’s a couple of days now.” Mary leans back in her chair. “There, I think he’s completely caught up now.”
I shake my head and reach for a piece of pie. I can’t even get upset with her; we’ve already had enough of that going on tonight.
“Congratulations. So, am I going to get to hear your amazing voice tonight?” Matt asks again.
“Not tonight.” I say as a hint of disappointment shows in his eyes. “Maybe at the next Monday night family dinner. If you’re still here then, of course.”
“Matt is moving back here,” Mary says abruptly.
I shoot Mary a quick look.
I’ve never seen her like this. She must be trying to fill in Jack’s part of the conversation. “Really?” I ask Matt. “You’re leaving your position as head chef at some fancy restaurant in New York to move back to Atlanta?”
He places his hands on top of the table and nods. “I am. I bought a condo here. I close on it tomorrow. I’m nervous because I haven’t seen it yet.”
“That was dumb,” Jack says.
Mary shoots him a disapproving look as he reaches over to grab a slice of pie.
“You must have had a great real estate agent to convince you to buy it without taking a tour,” I say, ignoring Jack’s comment.
“I did. My agent did a wonderful job. She took plenty of pictures, and I had it inspected by the best to ensure there weren’t any hidden issues. The condo is only six years old, so they didn’t find much, and the current homeowners agreed to fix the minor things.”
“Nice. Where is it?”
“Mýa wants to
buy a house,” Mary offered as an aside.
“Mary,” I snap.
“Sorry,” she says.
Jack smiles. It’s the first time he’s done so all evening.
“It’s near downtown and within walking distance to most of the shops and restaurants,” Matt answers without missing a beat.
“Sounds amazing,” I say, grabbing another slice of pie to wrap up and take home with me. “What are you going to do about work? Did you find something already?”
“I have a prospect, but there are a few things that need to be worked out. You know how that goes. If you’re still looking for a house, I’d be happy to give you my real estate agent’s contact information. As I said, she did a wonderful job for me. I highly recommend her.”
“I have—sure, actually. That would be great. Although I probably won’t be in the market for at least another six months or so.”
“Okay. I’ll be sure to give it to you before you leave tonight. I might forget to do it later, so just remind me if I do. When do you start your new gig?”
“I start on Thursday. I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be,” Jack says, finally joining in on our conversation for more than a snarky comment here and there. “She hired you because you can sing, and better than these so-called singers out there doing all that talking instead of actually singing like they’re getting paid to do.”
Matt looks over at me with an arched brow.
“Jack’s not a fan of rap,” I explain.
“I don’t blame him,” Mary says with a glance over at Jack, clearly glad to have him back. “I can’t figure out what they’re actually saying, but I will admit that I like the beat in some of it.”
“Do you like rap?” Matt asks me as he places his napkin down on the table and eases back in his chair.
“Not really, but I do respect that some rappers use it as a way to express how they feel about things that have happened in their lives. I’d compare some of it—not all of it, mind—to spoken word.”
“Good point,” Matt says. “Rap isn’t my favorite, but it’s becoming a prominent form of expression these days. I prefer singers like Aretha Franklin, Whitney Houston, and Celine Dion. I’m also a huge jazz enthusiast. Billie Holiday is one of my favorites.”
He listens to Billie Holiday?
“On that note, let’s listen to some music,” Mary says.
Chapter Fifty-three
September 22, 1994
Thursday arrives like it has business to take care of. I pull into the parking lot of Jazzmyne’s wearing a floor-length, cuff sleeve black gown that Mary purchased for me. She called it her apology. I call it absolutely beautiful. The gold stud earrings and black satin flats that I picked up at Macy’s have me feeling extra special as I find a parking spot.
Mary had clapped when I told her that for tonight, I’d be replacing my ninety nine cent lipstick with the grown woman kind and splurging on a gold eye shadow that promises to stay on my eyelids forever. Or hopefully for at least the next eight hours or so.
Glancing in the rearview mirror of my car, I smile. My hair is starting to grow in more and I can finally see a deeper wave pattern. I put enough mousse and gel in it today to ensure it’s visible to everyone else, too. I check my watch and see that I’m fifteen minutes early.
Fifteen minutes to sit and think about how the first time I came here, I had been with Michael.
Don’t cry. Tonight is not the night for that foolishness.
Too late.
“Hi,” says a young woman with brown skin, braces, and long hair. “You must be our new singer? I’m Margaret.”
“Nice to meet you, Margaret. I assume you’re Jazzmyne’s assistant?”
“Sorry, I should have explained that part, too. It’s been a busy day and it’s only four. Come on, let’s get your paperwork done. I have everything ready for you to sign. Once we’re finished, I’ll introduce you to the band and let you take it from there. They are eager to see what songs you’ve selected for tonight’s show.”
My eyebrow lifts. “I guess Jazzmyne isn’t going to be here to assist me with that like she and I discussed?”
She smirks. “One thing you’ll learn fast here is that Jazzmyne promises to be a lot of places and rarely shows up at any of them. I’m surprised she was actually there to go over the offer of employment with you. Typically, I handle that as well.”
“So you’re more like a manager than her assistant?”
“Now you’re getting it. You’ll love her, though. Flaws and all, she cares about everyone that works for her.”
“I could see that about her.”
“Follow me. I promise we’ll get this done quickly so you can have time to put a list together before meeting the band.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. By the way, I love your dress. Very elegant and perfect for the stage. Jazzmyne always knows who to hire. I can tell she was spot-on with you.”
I can tell that Margaret is a talker. “Thank you,” I say as I follow her to the smaller office located next to Jazzmyne’s. It’s as neat as the kitchen here is.
She notices me taking a look around. “Neat and organized, huh?”
I smile. “Yes.”
We both laugh and then she pulls out the paperwork, which I sign in less than ten minutes.
As I stand in front of the band, going over the songs that I selected, I pray they can’t hear my knees knocking under my dress.
“I’m digging your choices for tonight,” Jim, the bass player, says to me.
Digging? That’s some real old-school talk.
“Thank you,” I say. “I really wish I had come earlier so we could all take some time to get to know each other. Jazzmyne told me to be here at four.”
“Don’t worry about it. We all heard you sing. Anyone that can blow like that, we’ll follow. No worries.”
“I appreciate that.”
“By the way, that cat sitting behind the drums is Malcolm. Don’t mind the tattoos running down his arms and hands. He looks scary, but he’s as gentle as a kitten. Your other guitarist is my twin brother Kenny. He’s shy, so don’t expect him to say much, but he’ll tear up that guitar for you. I promise you that. Tommy is your master on the keys. That white boy can play a piano like his mama slapped some soul in him. You’ll see.”
I laugh at that one and give each of the band members a polite nod.
“I’m glad I finally got you to relax. Like I said, we’ll have your back and you don’t have to worry, we’re all married, so there won’t be any flirting going on. We’re all about the music and nothing else.”
“That’s good to know,” I say, feeling even more awkward now. “Maybe we should get rehearsal started?”
“Which one do you want to start with?” he asks.
I look over my list. “Let’s start with a little Minnie Riperton.”
“Dig that.”
Jazzmyne takes the stage at exactly seven o’clock wearing a long cream dress and silver earrings.
“Impressive, isn’t she?” Margaret says as we come to the right of the stage.
She is, considering she just walked in five minutes ago.
“That’s our Jazzmyne. You’ll go on when she’s done giving her typical ‘welcome to Jazzmyne’s’ speech. I’m sure you heard it when you came the first time?”
“I did,” I say, trying not to seem nervous. The rapid beating of my heart is telling a different story.
“Have a great show. I have to go and check on the bar.”
I take a deep breath as Jazzmyne finishes up, then I walk out on the stage and gently wrap my hands around the microphone. “Good evening. We’re going to start this evening off with my second favorite singer, Minnie Riperton,” I say to the audience just as I spot Jack, Mary, and even Matt staring back up at me.
I begin to sing the first set of lyrics, and my eyes automatically search the dimly lit space for him.
For Michael.
Chapter Fifty-four
November 29, 1994
“I’m so glad to see the sun out today,” I say as I grab a spoonful of eggs off the grill and dump them on top of my toast. “We need the heat.”
“I agree. That sun felt good on my bones this morning,” Mary says. We both watch Matt slice up a bowl of mushrooms quicker than I have ever seen anyone do it, including Jack.
“It’s also been good seeing the tension between Jack and Matt starting to lift,” I say to Mary, keeping my voice low enough that Matt doesn’t overhear.
“It only took a couple of months—way too long in my book,” Mary says, moving closer to me.
“You know how stubborn your husband is,” I say with a smirk, placing my hands on my hips.
“All too well, but like I told you before, Jack knew what had to be done.”
“You did tell me that,” I say, allowing my hands to drop. I look Matt’s way again and admire the way he coaches another cook on how to prepare one of four new sauces that Jack allowed him to add to the menu. “You think Matt’s going to stay?”
“Matt isn’t going anywhere,” she says, confidently.
“How can you be so sure?”
“He’s where his heart wants to be,” she says, giving me a pinch.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that this is home for him now.”
I nod. “Jack certainly seems to think so. Matt is practically running the kitchen for him.”
“It’s what Jack always wanted. It just took him a minute to remember that.”
“Speaking of Jack,” I say. “I hope his stomach starts feeling better. It’s weird being here and not seeing him, and he went to bed right after we finished dinner yesterday.”
“He says it’s all the fancy food I’ve been cooking lately. He’ll be here tomorrow, just as grumpy as ever. Don’t worry.”
