Page 108 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“She didn’t,” I said. “Christian made it.”
Her face brightened even more. “A man who bakes. Naomi, you didn’t tell me he was perfect.”
“Oh goodness.”
“What? It’s true.” She beamed at Christian. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”
I noticed a similarity almost instantly. Over the next hour, our gathering was buzzing much like Christian’s family gathering had.
Christian met my aunts, Serena and Belinda, my cousin Ebony, who was thrilled to see him in person, and my Uncle Charles, who immediately started asking about his thoughts on the Cardinals’ pitching staff.
We got pulled apart eventually, which was inevitable with so much going on. Still, I watched from across the yard as Christian held his own in a conversation about baseball statistics with three of my uncles. He wasn’t just being polite or nodding along; he knew what he was talking about, and I was sure being an entertainment sports attorney helped with that extensive knowledge.
“He’s different from what I expected,” my father said, rolling up beside me in his wheelchair.
“Different how?”
“Ebony made him sound like some high-class lawyer, and I assumed he wouldn’t know how to talk to regular people. But look at him.” My father nodded toward Christian, who was now helping my cousin’s son fix a broken water gun. “He fits right in.”
“Yeah, he does.”
“Were you worried he wouldn’t?”
“No. He’s been nothing but the best of everything.”
“You sound like you’re in love.” He stared at me, but I averted my eyes. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“I’m not jumping. I’m asking. Are you or are you not in love with him?”
I didn’t respond, and my daddy sighed. “Let me go over here and talk to this young man.”
I grabbed his shoulder. “Wait. He’s not young. And you don’t have to grill him, Dad. Our relationship is new and fragile.”
“So what? I can’t talk to him because of that?”
“You can’t grill him because of that. Take it easy.”
He sighed again. “I’ll do it this time. For your sake.”
I kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Daddy.”
After we ate, Patrice announced it was time for games. In our family, that meant serious competition.
“UNO!” she declared, pulling out a deck of cards. “Christian, you ever play UNO?”
“Once or twice.”
“Good. House rules apply. Draw four means draw six, and if you don’t say UNO before your last card, you draw ten.”
We gathered around the picnic table—me, Christian, Patrice, Ebony, and my cousin Devon, who took card games way too seriously.
The first round started friendly enough. Christian played his cards quietly, not saying much, just observing everyone else’s strategy. But by the third round, it was clear he wasn’t just playing, he was studying.
“Draw four,” he said, placing the card in front of Devon with an apologetic smile.
“Man, come on!” Devon protested, reaching for the deck.
