Page 8 of Hooked on Loving Him

“Yes, it was my parents. I keep telling you, you’re gonna bust hell open for preying on God’s chosen vessel like that,” I tell Mycah before chastising Jordan and turning toward the kitchen as they follow behind me.

“Girl. Trust me, God understands me and knows how hard it is for me to resist a fine specimen. I’m surprised Big Daddy Renzo ain’t been snatched up by one of the pie and cake-baking floozies at the church,” Jordan says.

“Yuck. Please don’t give me any reasons to vomit before we eat. Papa Ren ain’t about that life as he believes only God can show him his wife.”

“Chile, God is taking too long, and I’ve been praying for that man for a long time,” Jordan says.

“Girl, what?” Mycah asks, laughing.

“Never mind. Y’all won’t understand,” Jordan says.

“You know what, let’s change the subject because I ain’t got time to continue this conversation with you. Your ass better stop playing with God, though,” I say.

“Fine. What’s up with you heffas?” Jordan asks.

“Hold up. Hold up. Baby sister is here!” Amari shouts, entering the kitchen.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Mycah asks the question hanging on the tip of my tongue.

Amari Weeks is my younger sister, who is five years my junior, and while I love her, she wasn’t invited to have dinner with me, Mycah, and Jordan.

“Sent from heaven,” Amari sings with a grin and a shuffle of her shoulders.

“Hm. That’s cute, but why are you here without announcing your presence? You’re just as aggy as your damn parents. I need to change my locks and camera permissions because y’all are making my ass itch,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Well, I was on my way home, and Mom called to have me pop on you since her and Dad are already in their bed clothes. So, here I am,” Amari says.

“Wow. I think it’s time for you to get an impersonator or something to throw them off your scent, friend,” Jordan says, frowning.

“Go home, Amari, and if you tell your parents about who is at my house, prepare for me to share one of your secrets,” I say.

Amari’s face drops as her skin instantly turns beet red, because the idea of our parents finding out about any of her dirt has her damn near shaking.

“Damn, you don’t fight fair. Can I at least get a plate?” Amari asks.

“No. Bye, Amari.”

“Fine. My lips are sealed. I’ll see you at brunch on Saturday,” Amari says, hanging her head and leaving the kitchen as I watchher retreating back, sighing upon hearing my front door closing minutes later.

“Have you told them that you’re moving next week?” Mycah asks a few minutes later.

“Hell no. Their nosy asses will get the surprise when they attempt to access a camera they no longer have access to. I’m all for protection and shit, but damn, they be doing too much,” I say, sighing.

“No kidding. When we were growing up, I thought it was cute, but now, as adults, it's creepy and invasive,” Mycah says.

“For real. I would flee the state if my parents acted like yours,” Jordan says.

My parents and their need to check on me for safety reasons have caused me not to renew the lease on the house I’m renting. Instead, I’m moving to a gated townhouse community where individuals have to be announced or added to a list of approved visitors. I’m too grown to be monitored like I’m ten, and this is my first step in breaking free of the unnecessary hold from Ashanti’s and Jeffrey’s clutches.

“Anyway, let’s eat before this food gets cold,” I say, returning to the purpose of my friend coming over this evening.

“Sounds good to me. What did you cook today?” Mycah asks.

“I air-fried a whole chicken. We’re also having asparagus and mashed potatoes. I also made some brownies,” I say, smiling.

“Ooh, did you put the parmesan cheese on the asparagus when you baked them?” Jordan asks with her brows hiking.

“You know I did. I know how your greedy ass likes them,” I say.

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