Page 88 of Risks

“Oh no.” I laugh.

“I have it on my phone. She thinksit’s unflattering, but I refuse to delete it because the moment was stillspecial for us.”

“Yeah.” I stare out the window,wondering if Varen will ever propose to me. We’ve spoken about being togetherforever, but never about marriage. It’s probably because we’re still young.

Either way, I’m sure I’ll cry justlike Shanice when the guy I love more than anything in this world proposesbecause that would be the happiest day.

My nervousness intensifies as Jesiahturns into the suburban Georgetown neighborhood, and I become glued to the carseat when he slows down at the charming bungalow shortly after.

“They’re the most loving and welcomingpeople,” Jesiah assures me, touching my arm. “Come on. Don’t be nervous.” Heexits the car and grabs our bags from the backseat.

I mentally push myself out and closethe door, wringing my hands before me.

The front door opens, and the oldercouple steps out to the porch.

“She’s here,” Mrs. Morgan says,bouncing with her husband. Both seem excited.

As Jesiah and I approach, I take intheir appearance, noting that both have salt and pepper hair, deep brown skinwith a few aged spots, and huge smiles.

Mr. Morgan holds his wife’s shoulder,and she clasps her hands together, tearing up.

“Momma, Pops,” Jesiah begins theintroductions. “This is Latoya. My daughter. Your granddaughter.”

“Jesus,” Mrs. Morgan gasps and stepsforward, brown eyes glossy. “Look at you…” She stares at me for a few seconds,slowly shakes her head, then wraps her slender arms around me. “God.” She easesback for another once-over and wraps me in her embrace again, laughing amid hersobs. “My grandbaby…”

Mr. Morgan comes closer and rubs hiswife’s back. When she lets me go, he welcomes me in his burly embrace. “It’s sogood to meet you, Latoya.”

There’s something warm and lovingabout their hugs. Even the way their eyes glisten as they regard me. It calmsmy nerves, and I can’t help but shed tears.

Mr. Morgan pats my shoulder gently,sniffles, then motions for Jesiah and me to go inside with them.

“We were so excited when you told usyou were driving up,” Mrs. Morgan remarks when we enter the house, snifflingand dabbing at her eyes.

“I’m sorry for the short notice,” Iapologize while drying my tears.

Mr. Morgan waves it off. “Oh, no,no. We’re happy you came.” He draws a deep breath and motions to the livingroom.

Jesiah leaves our bags in the entry,and we walk over to the large sofa, sitting across from his parents.

It’s so cozy and homey. Familyphotos splayed over the walls. Bookshelves. Plants in corners. Large windows.

“Oh, forgive me,” Mrs. Morgan says, risingagain. “Would you like something to drink, honey? I just made some juice.”

I look at Jesiah.

“Not him.” She chuckles and clicksher tongue at her son. “He can help himself.”

Jesiah huffs a short laugh. “Wow,Momma. I’m thirsty, too.”

“You know where the kitchen is,” shethrows back and refocuses on me. “Latoya?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Morgan. That soundsgood. I could go with you and—”

“No, no,” she stops me before Istraighten. “You stay there. And I know it’ll take some time to get used to us,so until then, it’s Laila and Odell. Not Mr. and Mrs. Morgan. Don’t be formal.”

“Ms. Laila,” I mutter. “Mr. Odell.”

Both smile.

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