Page 32 of Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming
She pulls up to her Uncle Doc’s place. It’s similar to hers in that it has the homey feel to it, except it’s much bigger, and his place also comes with a lot of land on the property. It feels like a bit of Tennessee in SoCal.
Lyric hops out of the car like an excited little girl. She always loves visiting Uncle Doc’s place for family gatherings. Ranson chuckles behind her as she rushes to the door. Before she can getto the first step, the door opens, and a pair of strong arms are wrapped around her.
“Hey, Big Head!”
“Hey, L!”
The two cousins hug each other tightly. Big Head puts Lyric down, and she turns to Ranson, who’s smiling at the scene before him.
“Big Head, this is Ranson.”
“Money bags!” Big Head wraps Ranson in a hug. He pulls him close and says something in his ear before backing away. “Do you understand?”
“I do.” Ranson nods.
“I’m serious, money bags, you hurt L, and they won’t be able to find your body. I don’t give a fuck about your daddy,” Big Head announces.
“Understood, sir, and I respect your candor. I have sisters and have been forced to fuck up quite a few niggas in their honor.”
Big Head nods. “Good to know. Now, both of you get in here and settle some nonsense.”
They follow him into the house, and immediately, Lyric hears arguing between some of her female relatives.
“What nonsense?” Lyric asks.
They enter the kitchen.
“This.” Big Head points to the scene before them.
Lyric sees her cousins whipped up in a frenzy about potato salad as they get the refrigerated sides ready for tomorrow and several of her aunts make tonight’s dinner.
Her cousin-in-law, Tammy, whizzes right by Lyric and grabs Ranson’s hand.
“Come here, big fella. Have a seat.”
She pulls him to a stool at the kitchen island and places a small bowl of potato salad in front of him.
“Taste that,” she orders.
Ranson takes a bite of potato salad and slowly chews it. Everyone has gotten quiet and is looking at the scene before them.
“What do you think?” Tammy asks.
“Um …” Ranson begins.
“Now, hold on here.” A warm booming voice rings out by the kitchen entrance. Lyric’s mom,theeeCerese Fuqua, saunters over to Ranson. She takes his bowl and scrapes out the remainder of Tammy’s potato salad, washes the bowl and replaces it with her own.
“Eat this,” she commands.
Ranson eats the potato salad and scrapes it with his spoon to get the very last bite.
“And now you can say what you think,” Cerese says.
“The first bowl was good, but the potatoes hadn’t been boiled long enough. And the second bowl was perfect,” Ranson answers. He turns to a pouting Tammy. “Sorry.”
“Whatever,” she mutters.
“Let this be a lesson, don’t come half stepping in this or any kitchen I cook in and expect to dethrone me, little girl,” Cerese says in a gentle but pointed tone.
