Page 38 of Ella Gets the D
“Amazing news! You’ll get it, sweetie pie.” A squeeze is at the end of his hug, which is coated in expensive cologne.
Sweetie Pie.
Pumpkin.
Juju Bean.
The Brooke family has a thing for food names. It wouldn’t surprise me if “Mac,” Julian’s nickname for Morgan, stands for mac and cheese.
Is Julian in the office today?
Langston takes the seat across from me. He’s not a bulky man but keeps in shape. It’s a hidden talent how he folds himself into Morgan’s doll-house furniture. His ankle crosses over his knee, and he drapes a cufflink-adorned hand over the Italian loafers she bought him two Christmases ago. “When will you find out?”
My inhale is sharp. “In the next few days.” I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but after multiple rejections and the clock winding down, I want this. Ineedthis, or for something else to pan out soon.
I had five years at a daycare under my belt before Charles convinced me to stay home. Rose has been searching for a second-in-command, and I need to get back to the workforce. The stars are aligning, or at least appear to be. Not only would I get a decent salary, but I’d have full benefits and a tuition discount that my struggling bank account would kiss with an open mouth.
“So we can’t convince you to join Brooke Law International?” Langston motions to the crown molding and the view of DC’s historic U Street Corridor. “We just installed a new coffee machine,” he says with a smile that makes him look ten years younger than his sixty-four years.
Job recruiters would throw office supplies at my forehead for turning down the prospect of a career at Langston Brooke’s company. What they do here is still a mystery to me. Something with contracts and negotiations. Whatever it is, he’s building a legacy in his community.
Brooke Law International is a majority-Black firm with internship opportunities at nearby universities. There’s even a program for high schoolers from historically marginalized areasto spend a summer in one of the overseas offices, all expenses paid.
And that doesn’t even begin to touch his DC footprint.
Take this office. It stretches across one of four floors inside a historic property on the corner of one of the busiest blocks on the corridor. He owns the building. All nine thousand square feet.
Between this floor and Suegra’s is multifamily housing for struggling families who don’t qualify for the low-income threshold in the area. This is separate from other office spaces across the city, which he rents to start-ups for next to nothing. They all have affordable housing.
Morgan and Julian come from a long line of Black excellence in the nation’s capital. Their legacy has stood the test of time and survived gentrification, and now they give back to communities to preserve culture and prevent erasure.
Brooke Law is amazing, but it’s not for me.
“You know I can only tolerate Morgan in small doses.” I dodge a stack of sticky notes to the head and laugh. “Kids are my ministry.”
It’s true. Early childhood development is not for the faint of heart. Tantrums and screams come with the territory, and most days involve dealing with someone else’s shit. Literally. But I wouldn’t trade it for an all-white office or looking over pages and pages of contracts in legalese I don’t understand. Morgan deals in corporate art, but she might as well be one of the lawyers with her arsenal of fancy suits.
Give me crayons, Converses, and cuddly little kids I get to help mold into kind adults. Ones who care about others, recycle, and remember to share their snacks.
Langston nods. “Understood. Can’t blame an old man for trying.” He looks at his watch and stands. “At least let us celebrate your job interview on Sunday.”
My brow quirks. “Does this celebration include your famous pulled barbecue chicken?” Don’t let the custom suits fool you—Langston throws down on the grill. His ribs are also phenomenal.
His eyes widen at the prospect of gassing up his favorite appliance. Grilling is one of Langston’s greatest loves, behind his wife, kids, and career. He strokes his lip with his thumb and index finger. “That could work. You know,” he says with a smile at no one in particular, “I’ve been meaning to try out my new smoker.”
He’s like a kid in a candy store, only rosemary lamb chops and cornbread entice him over lollipops. “Great idea, sweetie pie,” he says. “We’ll celebrate your interview and Julian’s birthday.”
That gets my attention. “Oh?” Morgan leans to her side in her chair and tilts her head at the breathlessness in my tone. The woman doesn’t miss a thing. I cut my eyes at her to mind her business and pull my attention back to her dad with a mental note to keep my voice and vagina in check.
It’s a harmless crush—not even a crush. More like an observation of his fineness. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Saturday is his birthday,” Langston continues. “It’s been a year since we could celebrate with him at home. We’re happy to have him back.” Multimillion-dollar deals don’t come close to the love Julian’s dad has for his family. The twinkle in his eye shows more love for his children than words will ever convey.
“How old is he?” I shrug off Morgan’s glare. She’s not mad, but based on the height of her eyebrows, she’s got questions about my sudden interest in her brother.
It’s not like I brought him up. She should blame her dad for that.
“He’ll be thirty-one.” Langston’s brows draw together. “You alright, Ella?”
