by Xavier Neal
While Yasmine’s Yummies doesn’t appear to be very large by the size of our small lobby, the actual cooking area is enormous. It’s very clear when she signed her lease, she had plans on needing this much space. On one side of the room there is a set of baking ovens, one of which was the cause of the problem. To the left and right of the pair are preparation counters as well as cabinets for storage. Through the center of the room are three small island stations, each with a stovetop, spaces for dishware, and a pot rack hanging from the ceiling. The other side of the room, opposite of the prep area, is where the heavy portion of decorating and packaging is done. Our large walk-in along with our smaller fridge is towards the far back corner, closest to the side door we use for deliveries.
“Where are we?” She directs her question at me. “Almost done?”
“With this batch,” I motion my chin downward to the display. “I’ve got another round of strawberries to dip.”
“We’re gonna need more than just strawberries and pretzels.” Yasmine folds her arms firmly across her chest. “And we’re gonna need to be creative about it.”
“By creative do you mean cheap?” Langston inquires.
“That would be nice…but not so cheap it looks cheap.”
“We can do other fruit,” he promptly suggests.
“That’s lacking creativity.”
“What about a nice and naughty theme?” Picking up the tray to relocate it to the fridge, I rattle off, “Like we can do a few trays full of fresh fruits dipped in chocolate, some covered with nuts, some not, and then we can do a few trays of things like the pretzels, and Oreos, and wafers. Oh!” My body excitedly spins back around to face her. “We could do these adorable dipped chocolate marshmallows I made for one of Dawn’s baby showers. Instead of just doing sets of them with blue and pink sprinkles, we can do rainbow or bright neon colors!”
Yasmine enthusiastically nods. “That sounds amazing.”
“We’d just need to do a quick run to the store to get the ball rolling.”
“Why don’t you two keep at it with the fruit while I go do that?” She quickly suggests. “How about I grab us all lunch, too?”
“Free lunch?” L dramatically questions. “Whose boss, are you?”
She rolls her eyes and pulls her keys from her pocket. “Shut up before I’m not yours.” I prepare to slide the tray inside, having finally reached the fridge, when her voice halts my movements. “Sienna.”
Looking over my shoulder, I reply, “Yeah?”
“Great thinking on the dipped desserts.”
Pride pushes my head a little higher.
“It’s quick shit like that that makes you so invaluable.”
“Thanks, Yasmine.”
“Thank you.”
The unexpected ego boost has me grinning from ear to ear as I return to putting the tray away.
Fuck me, what an amazing feeling!
It’s not like I’ve never “saved the day” before. Believe it or not, the day often needs to be saved when you’ve got two kids at home around the clock, whose interests are almost always at opposite ends, and a husband incapable of realizing his brown shoes do not mesh with his gray pants. However, this is different. This isn’t someone relying on my mom or wife skills. This isn’t an afternoon of impromptu Play-Doh creations or tucking in a pocket square to give a professional flare. No. This is me flourishing in my own environment. This is me getting to prove I’m worth the money she spends each month on my salary. This is me cementing my spot at my dream job. Earning the privileges and trust that is constantly being bestowed on me.
This is me finally knowing I’ve truly found my place.
Chapter 14
Kenny fidgets with the collar of his white t-shirt. “Dad, I’m nervous.”
Me too…
But for a completely different fucking reason that I cannot and will not admit out loud.
“You’re gonna do great, bud.” I pop his hand to stop the action. “Leave your shirt alone. You’re stretchin’ it out.”
“It’s itchy,” he whines.
“It isn’t.”
“Is.”
“Isn’t.”
Kenny purses his lips to one side and huffs, “What if I forget all my lines or words to the songs?!”
“Then just start singin’ a little Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believin’, and no one will know the difference.”
At that, he tosses me a sarcastic expression. “Dad.”
“Hm?”
“Everyone knows the difference between ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ and the opening sea song.”
“Maybe…” I give him a casual shrug. “Why don’t you go ahead and practice so I can see if that’s true?”
He rolls his eyes, yet softly does it anyway.
Pretending not to know the difference between the two accomplishes what I had hoped. My unconvinced face and clueless facial twitches cause him to loosen up. Kenny laughs. Pokes me. Laughs more. By the time we’re both singing Journey quietly together, there’s not an ounce of fear left in his eyes.
“You’re gonna do great, bud.” My reiteration is accompanied with me shoving my hands into my jean pockets. “Promise.”
Kenny abruptly abandons the decision to further object. His attention shoots past me, and a familiar dopey look appears on his face.
I steal a small glimpse over my shoulder to see what I was expecting. Chanty, in a bright red wig, purple shirt, and green scaly skirt. She looks equally as nervous as he does, which prompts me to say, “Why don’t you go over there and talk to her? Bet she’s nervous just like you, bud.”
“Why?” The faint twang to his speech spreads my smile wider. “She’s perfect.”
“Go…” Gently pushing him her direction, I inform, “Gotta get to my seat before someone tries to take it.”
Unlikely, considering the fact I bought the first two rows for the family and friends. That was one of the only perks of being on the committee. I was in charge of selling tickets, took the first shift, and sold to myself before anyone else. Twenty people was going to be hard to accommodate, and I knew everyone would be here.
I knew everyone would want to be here.
I just hope the one person who matters most to him shows her ass up.
Once Kenny is headed across the backstage area for his crush, I make my way around to the clamorous crowd where patrons are impatiently waiting for the small production to begin. In route to my family, I momentarily pause to check my phone in hopes of seeing something, anything, from my wife. The lack of communication and response to the messages I have sent as well as the voicemails I have left is infuriating. Rather than dwell on it, I shove my phone back into my pocket, and find my family that’s predictably gathered in a large clump trying to decide who should sit where.
“We need to be on the end in case me or Ollie gotta step out with Clint,” Runt informs everyone.
Stopping at his side, I concernedly ask, “Think he’ll wake up?”
“Doubtful,” Ollie sweetly replies, beaming down at the tiny light brown-skinned baby in her husband’s arms. “Very doubtful. Solid sleeper after a bottle.”
“Which he just finished,” Runt adds.
“Well, if it’s doubtful, why do you gotta sit on the end?” Blake whines.
“Why is it so important you sit on the end?” Abby, his wife, quickly questions.
“I need the leg room, Angel.”
“We all need leg room,” Big Foot retorts with a sharp scowl.
“Hell, even pint-sized London’s going to need it,” Oliver states, folding his arms cross his chest. He tips his head towards the chairs. “These things are ridiculously small.”
“That’s what she said,” Blake childishly adds to the conversation in unison with Pop.
Instead of giving Oliver the chance to scold them, I inquire, “Where is London?”
“I’m here! I’m here! I’m here!” She announces on her skip over to us. “Went to find the restroom. Got a little lost. Howev
er, I totally found a little spot we can sneak away to if there’s an intermission.” Her gaze reaches her husband’s. “It’ll be a tight fit, but a fun one, Hot Stuff.”
Oliver’s face flushes a little.
Fuck, I love having a family that isn’t the least bit bothered when they overhear shit like that.
“If you’re talkin’ where I think you’re talkin’ be mindful of the security cameras,” Pop nonchalantly interjects.
All of us, except Big Foot, grumble our grievances over the idea of our parents engaged in that type of behavior.
All right, so we get bothered by a few things like knowing our parents are still living a wild and crazy sexual experience.
“Seats,” Mama sighs deeply. “They’re gonna get started any minute.”
I take the initiative to sort shit out. “All Shaw men sit on the edge seats. Ladies next to them. Kids can be wedged in between to prevent escaping and Hollis, George, and Tri will get in wherever they can.”
We break like a football team just as Dawn escorts in all five of her boys and Kyle, who were playing on the playground.
Taking my seat, I check my cell for the hundredth time for a text or missed call.
Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing.
Big Foot opts for the front row seat directly across the aisle from me. “Where’s Sienna?”
Ain’t that the million-dollar question of the hour.
Where the fuck is my wife?
The smile I manage to plaster on is clearly filled with annoyance. “Runnin’ late.”
He offers me a sympathetic nod. “Happens.”
All the time.
Every day.
Kyle trying to climb into my lap interrupts the conversation, and I’m glad. “Can I sit here?”
Chuckling, I nudge him down into the chair beside me. “No, but you can sit here.”
“What if Kenny can’t see me?” He complains. “I want him to know I’m here, Dad.”
“He knows you’re here, small fry. He knows we’re all here for him.”
Almost all of us…
The lights finally dim, and I point a sharp finger at him. “What did we talk about?”
“Lights down, lips block. Lights up, talk talk.”
My smile is genuinely warm as I sling my arm around him to tug him closer.
Little rhyme came in handy during dress rehearsals this week.
Ocean sounds and opening tunes flow out of the speakers forcing me to forget the ugly absence that is being noted.
No.
This is about being here for Kenny.
He worked hard on this.
He deserves my full, undivided attention.
For the first fifty minutes, I am undeniably captivated. Seeing these kids perform is completely different than having seen them practice. Each and every child on stage does a fantastic job. No one misses cues. No one misses lines. No one exudes the smallest bit of stage fright. More importantly, my son, my oldest boy who I never would’ve guessed had any desire before this to do anything that would put this much attention on him, shines brighter than I’ve ever witnessed. His lines are spoken loudly and with confidence. His singing voice is strong when it needs to be and supportive when it doesn’t. Even his presence pumps out pure pleasure over what it is he’s engulfed in. It’s an odd feeling to not see the shy little boy I had grown accustomed to knowing when I was working full time, but the makings of a little man I know will go on to do great things.
Be great things.
Be…unstoppable.
Five minutes is all that’s left when Sienna finally slips into her seat on the other side of Kyle. He remembers his etiquette and doesn’t speak. Instead, he waves frantically, points to where Kenny is standing next to Chanty, holding hands, singing the shortened end version of Part of Your World.
I don’t acknowledge her presence.
Or the fact she’s only getting to see her son sing for thirty seconds.
Or how fucking furious I am.
No.
I beam with pride at our oldest, wait for the appropriate time to clap, and then do so on my feet alongside the rest of the crowd.
After Miss Eisenhower gives a short speech about the students that warrants another round of applause, everyone is dismissed. The children rush backstage to gather their things, while their parents collectively stand around waiting for their presence.
Sienna immediately attempts to speak to me, yet I move myself away so that she doesn’t have the chance. Turning my attention to Big Foot and Dawn, I ask, “What’d you guys think?”
“Are you sure that was little Kenny up there?” Big Foot teases. “That didn’t look or sound like my nephew…”
“He was so good,” Dawn coos.
“Amazin’,” Blake’s voice joins the praises.
“Did any of you know he was that musically gifted?” Abby questions.
“I mean, I did,” Sienna softly snickers, bulldozing her way into the conversation.
Continuing to ignore her presence is easy. “Make sure everyone tells him how great you thought he was. He was so nervous backstage.”
“For no reason,” Runt warmly states. “He was…wow.”
“Heard someone say with a voice like his, it’s hard to believe he’s only seven,” Oliver brags. “Seemed impressed to have a first grader cast as lead.”
“Same thing for the little girl,” Ollie agrees. “She was also…wow.”
“Chanty,” I swiftly retort. “And my son’s…girl.”
“What?!” They squawk in unison.
“Sh,” my hand motions for them to keep it down. “He has a major crush on her.”
“He’s only seven,” Oliver croaks. “Isn’t it a little early to be…crushing on girls?”
“Hey, when you know you know,” Pop happily sings.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Mama hums, leaning into his embrace.
Shoving away the feelings of resentment isn’t easy.
“Does she like him?” Dawn cautiously question.
“According to her mom, yeah.”
“I didn’t know you talked to her mom,” Sienna admits over my shoulder.
The look I toss her is arctic cold. “You don’t know a lot of shit.”
Hurt and anger thrum through her vision, but I look away.
She’s lucky I was that nice.
George, Hollis, and Tri interrupt the building tension.
“He was so good!” Tri squeaks gleefully.
“He really was,” Hollis echoes, arm settled around his girlfriend’s waist.
“I like this version better than the movie,” George announces. “It was short. Sweet. To the point.”
Hollis lightly chuckles. “Dad you’re acting like the movie was three hours long.”
“Wasn’t it?” George instantly questions.
The group shares a laugh that’s interrupted by the sound of Kenny’s voice. “Did I do okay?!”
We verbally trip over one another to voice our praises. Kenny eats every bit of it up with a spoon. Everyone takes time and rounds to gush over how incredible they thought he was, yet when it’s Sienna’s turn it takes everything in me not to point out she missed all the important shit.
Due to the time of evening, dinner is definitely out of the question, so we celebrate Kenny’s opening night performance by going to get frozen yogurt. The entire family, as well as George, Tri, and Hollis, join us. I drive the boys, don’t say a word to Sienna despite her continuous efforts to try, and decide to sit beside my baby brother and his wife rather than anywhere near my own. While I’m sure the tension and avoidance techniques are noticeable, I don’t address them. I keep the happiest expression I can plastered on. I tease my brothers. Laugh with their wives. Hold their children and my own.
It isn’t until Sienna and I have tucked the boys into bed that she’s given a true chance at grabbing my attention.
The keys to my truck are being transferred from the kitchen table to my hand when she b
locks my path. “Are you just gonna give me the silent treatment for the rest of the night?”
