Page 32 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

I’m used to Raya oozing confidence and sex appeal to the point where I have no choice but to overlook the weird shit she does. But this girl in my parents’ yard is different. She’s smaller. Subdued. Anxious.

I don’t like that.

She smiles when she spots me, at least, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Then the realization hits:she needs me. I forget to act hard, jumping to my feet to greet her properly. When I pull her into me for a hug, she relaxes and runs her fingers down the back of my head. That shit makes my stomach flip in a way I don’t have the opportunity to acknowledge right now, but later on, it’s a go.

“I’m glad you made it,” I say, too honest for my liking. “Let me introduce you.”

“Wait.” She smooths her hair back with her fingers. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful, as always.”

She likes that, and I realize I’ve never told her she's beautiful before. I guess I forget even the truly bad ones still wanna hear that.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s get it over with.”

That’s…odd, but I’m too keyed up to dwell on it. I lead her over to the table and clear my throat.

“Yall, this is Raya. Raya, this is everybody.”

“Hi,” she says, very demure. Very soft. Nothing like the Raya I’ve been messing with these past few weeks. “It’s so nice to meet everybody.”

A chorus of greetings ripples through the group, but it’s my mother who makes the first volley. Of course.

“Raya. That’s an interesting name. Are you…named after anyone in particular?”

“My father,” she answers.

“I see.” Mama’s smile is tight. “You two must be very close, then.”

Raya’s smile is even tighter. The girl isn’t stupid. “We are. I’m close with both my parents. They’ve been married almost thirty-five years. We’re one big happy family.”

Checkmate.

Mama wasn’t expecting that. She sips her Chardonnay, eyes narrowing over the glass, while my sisters exchange a look. My father extends a hand, which Raya shakes warmly.

“Welcome to our home,” he says. “Please make yourself comfortable. You’re with the family. We don’t bite.”

Between his big grin and the twinkle in his eye, I know what he’s thinking, and so does everybody else in the yard. But as far as I know, my father’s wandering eye has never wandered too far from my mother.

I glance at her, wondering if she noticed.

She noticed.

I was prepubescent the first time I caught him checking out a woman in public. He laughed and told me straight up that looking is never wrong as long as you don’t touch. I’m sure my mama wishes he was a little more lowkey with that shit, though.

At any rate, Raya seems a little less on edge once the introductions are over. She insists on making me a plate before she makes herself one, something my mother and sisters take note of with a silent exchange of glances.

I let her. It’s not something I’d ever demand from a woman, and Lord knows Mama would cuss me out if she found out I did, but I’m not gonna pretend I don’t like that shit.

And she must like doing it. Shorty is focused. She brings me a full plate—ribs, baked beans, cornbread, corn on the cob, and potato salad—before grabbing one for herself.

We settle at the edge of the yard, a few feet away from the main crowd. The cicadas are loud as hell, the air still humid but settling into that golden, late-afternoon warmth.

She listens intently as I start talking about my people.Veryintently.

Almost like she’s memorizing everything.

“So, Vanessa is my oldest sister. She’s a dentist. That’s her husband over there, dude who showed up wearing khakis to the cookout. And his name is Carlton. How’s that for irony?”

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