Page 14 of The Noisemaker

I grinned, spinning in a slow circle. “You like what you see?”

“You already know I do.”

“Good.”

“Don’t bite your lip like that or I’m going to have to bend you over and spank you.”

I made a show of bending over at my waist to pick up the box that had been delivered. Predictably, Desmond eased up behind me and gently thrusted against me.

“You better stop playing,” I warned as I opened the box. “We don’t have much time and you’re trying to start stuff.”

He slapped his hand against my ass with a firm pop. “I’m going to try to be good. You just look so—what the fuck is that?”

Laughing, I pulled the rest of it out of the box. “Bear masks. In Romania, they do bear dances where they dress up in bear costumes and dance to keep evil away. So, when we get back, we’ll dance around the apartment. But because things may be closing early today, we have to do the stuff we need to go out for now.”

He eyed the masks warily. “I should’ve read the list more carefully because I definitely didn’t see this shit,” he joked.

“Well, if you didn’t spend breakfast time pretending like I wanted to hop on John’s pork, you would’ve seen the whole agenda for the day,” I retorted as we left the bedroom and headed downstairs.

He laughed at his own ridiculousness. “That was a good one.”

I shook my head.

We jumped into his car, and I gave him the directions to our first stop. “Sak Pase Haitian Cuisine,” he read the restaurant signage. “What are we doing here?”

“We are getting soup joumou,” I told him.

As we entered the restaurant, the woman behind the counter looked up with a big smile. “Bonswa! Welcome to Sak Pase!”

I matched her smile. “Hi! We’re here to pick up an order.”

The older woman turned and looked behind her. “Name, please.”

“Aria Taylor.”

“Ah, yes.” She let out a little laugh and then turned back toward us. “An order of soup joumou. Good choice.” She looked between us and then focused on Desmond. “Are you Haitian?”

“No ma’am,” he answered her.

She put her hand on her hip. “Do you know the history of soup joumou?”

“No ma’am,” he replied again.

“During the period of colonization, enslaved Africans were forced by their oppressors to cultivate squash for the soup, but they weren’t allowed to eat the soup,” she explained as a bell dinged. She turned around and grabbed the container and placed it in a plastic bag. “So, on January 1, 1804, when we won the battle against the French army and declared our independence, our first president’s wife prepared the soup joumou and shared it with everyone.” She handed us our bag with napkins and spoons. “And that is why we eat soup joumou to bring in the new year as a celebration of freedom, bravery, and resilience.”

“Oh wow,” he responded in awe. “I had no idea.”

I only knew because I’d read that information last night when I was compiling the list. But seeing the pride on the woman’s face as she discussed her culture with us was better than anything I read on the internet.

I placed some cash in the jar next to the register. “Thank you so much for the soup and the history lesson.”

“You two come back in the new year, okay?”

“We will!”

With a wave, she called out, “Babay!”

Hand-in-hand, we walked out of the restaurant and back to the car. Checking the time, I made a face. “Okay we have to make it to the Richland Market before they close today.”

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