Page 49 of Happy Endings

“I go by Andre now, Mrs. Harris.” He was tired of asking her to call him that, but his childhood nickname grated even more. It reminded him too much of the immature kid who ran away from home.

“It’s not good to work all the time.” She ignored his request. The needles began moving again. “You need a woman in your life.”

“No time for that right now, Mrs. Harris.” Andre waved at her. “Have a good day.”

Great. On top of everything else, he had Mrs. Harris’s hawklike eyes to worry about.

After a brisk walk, he made it to the restaurant in time to prep for lunch service but not work in his office beforehand. Several people were standing by the front door. Maybe the pop-ups were bringing in customers already. Keisha was right about partnering with Trixie.

Once he came closer, he recognized Mr. Jackson, his landlord. He was chatting with two white folks in business suits. A brunette in a pantsuit and heels snapped photos of the building while a man in a dark gray suit and shiny black loafers took notes on his tablet. He seemed to be in charge.

“Afternoon, Mr. Jackson.” Andre offered his hand. The gray-haired man’s grip was surprisingly strong for someone in their early seventies. “What’s going on here?”

“I thought y’all didn’t open until lunch.” He looked back at the corporate types behind him and walked Andre to the side. “We’re almost done. I’ll be right back.”

Andre caught only a few words of the conversation, but there were plenty of smiles and nodding from everyone. Something about his landlord’s lawyer calling. Then dark-gray-suit guy handed a large yellow envelope to Mr. Jackson before he and his partner got into an SUV and drove off.

“What was that about?” Andre asked.

“Andre.” Mr. Jackson sighed and rubbed his bald head, which still held some patches of salt-and-pepper hair. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way. I know Hazel helped make this neighborhood better, but—”

“Who were they?” Andre interrupted. His landlord took frequent visits down memory lane that involved plenty of meandering. Normally, he’d humor Mr. Jackson, but he was already late.

“They want to buy the building. As is.” He gestured to the cracked steps and worn bricks. “A generous offer. I can finally move to California and be near my son and grandkids.”

“What?!” Andre shook his head. “But what about the restaurant and the bookstore? And the hair salon?”

Like Mama Hazel’s, the bookstore had seen better days. There were probably more people browsing than actually buying books. He and Xavier spent many hot summer days enjoying the free air-conditioning there.

“I’m sorry, Andre. I can’t keep up anymore. This building needs fixing up, and I don’t have the money for it.”

“What are they going to do with it?” He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. Mama Hazel’s was just starting to do better. He needed more time.

“Either condos or office buildings.” Mr. Jackson shrugged. “Something that’ll bring more people to District Market.”

“You can’t do that! People depend on our family dinners. And the bookstore—where else can kids buy books for a dollar?”

“I’m seventy-four, Andre. I’m tired and I miss my son.”

The man he’d known since he was a kid had gotten old. Deep wrinkles etched his warm brown skin, while his posture had become more stooped. Everyone and everything around him kept changing. Pretty soon no one around would remember Mama.

He had to do something.

“How much did they offer you?” Andre blurted. “What if we”—he gestured to the other tenants—“bought you out?”

“I suppose that would be all right. I’d rather keep it in the family, so to speak.”

“Okay, let me talk to everyone. When do you need to tell the developers?”

“They’re drawing up the papers for my lawyer. A couple of weeks max.” Mr. Jackson put a hand on Andre’s shoulder. “I know things are tough right now. Make me a good offer and I promise to talk to my son about it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Two weeks was not enough time, but he had to try.

Chapter 19

Friday’s brisk lunch service kept Andre busy. He noticed several first-time customers. Maybe the pop-ups were helping. He meant to ask where they had learned about the restaurant. Running from table to table taking orders and keeping up with drink refills didn’t leave much time for socializing with his customers. They were just busy enough to need another person but not making enough to hire one.

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