Page 11 of Father of the Bride

“Damn. That’s deep.”

“We haven’t talked yet. I’m kinda nervous, honestly.”

Tigra waited a beat. “Is he single?”

“That’s all you care about, huh?”

Her laughter echoed through the receiver, tickling Sunny’s ears. “If it means getting you some new penis, then, yeah.”

Sunny closed her eyes, her patience running thin. “So, what do I do?”

“About what? If he’s single, you know what to do. If not, do what you went down there to do. How’s Davion?”

“He’s…hanging in there.”

“Girl, get that boy down the damn aisle,” Tigra said. “Are his friends there yet?”

“They get here Friday, same as you and the hoe. These first few days are just for the families to get acquainted.”

“Mm hm. Sounds like you’re acquainted with the daddy already.”

“Bye, Tigra.”

“Text me with updates so I’m not walking in there blind.”

“It’s a wedding, not a gang initiation.”

She’d said that, but now, as she stood in the foyer, fidgeting in her red cocktail dress, she noted how divided they all were. Two factions. The Dixons and the Bennetts.

Brooklyn rushed over with Davion and two young men in tow. Her beaded white mermaid gown was stunning, and also bridal, which was fitting for the occasion.

“Ms. Sunny, I want you to meet my little brothers. That’s Drew, and that’s Vince.”

Sunny offered a smile to the two boys. Handsome, just like their daddy. “Nice to meet you.”

Drew looked at Davion in awe, whispering, “Bruh, that’s your mom?”

All but Davion laughed at that.

He’d never been fond of how his friends looked at his mother. Or each other, whenever she walked in the room. The snickers. The elbows to each others’ sides. He’d been ignoring it since his friends hit puberty, except for the time he punched Andre Mcrary in the mouth for saying, “Heeeeyyyyy Ms. Parker,” after she walked by him to get to the kitchen to make them some brownies.

Davion wasn’t even the violent type, but he was protective of his mother. So when his soon-to-be brother-in-law made his comment, Davion’s jaw clenched so tight, pain shot through his head.

“That ain’t funny,” he gritted out. “Show some respect.”

“Lighten up, D,” Sunny shot back, because flattery never hurt anybody, especially when they were forty-seven years old and still healing from the pain of losing their husband to a younger woman.

Drew tossed a, “My bad,” at them before walking off toward the bar.

The music changed just then.

“This sounds so familiar,” Brooklyn said, tilting her head, her eyes narrowing in concentration. “Babe, what song is this?”

Davion stared into space, listening intently. “Mama, you used to play this all the time, didn’t you?”

It was true, but Sunny said nothing as she listened to the band’s rendition of “Beauty” by Dru Hill. She’d played it at home countless times over the years, but she’d never told anybody the reason she loved it so much.

Davion and Brooklyn looked at her expectantly.

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