Page 40 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
Eight
CHRISTIAN
For the pastfifteen years Soulful had sat in the same brick façade on the corner of Delmar and Union. At this time of season it was draped with autumn garland, and pumpkins clustered around the entrance. Hickory smoke drifted from the outer edges of the restaurant and hit me in my face as I entered.
Fall had transformed the interior, too. Mason jars filled with orange leaves sat on every table, and cinnamon-scented candles flickered throughout the dining room. Sounds of my family’s establishment were immediate. The clink of silverware against the plates, the low chirp of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter from the kitchen where my aunts ruled mingled throughout.
“Nephew!” Aunt Cherry shouted from behind the bar, where she was polishing glasses like a pro. “Your brothers are already out back, baby. Go on through.”
I made my way past families sharing platters of fried catfish and mac and cheese, through the kitchen where Aunt Bernice was orchestrating the dinner rush like a conductor.
“Is that my Christian?” she shouted.
I walked into her open arms and hugged her tight. “The one and only.”
“Awww!” She pinched my cheeks then kissed me on each side. “It’s good to see you. Gone out back and I’ll have you a plate sent out.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Out back, the courtyard had become our unofficial meeting place.
The space was my aunts’ pride and joy, a hidden oasis behind the restaurant where we communed often.
Xander and Elijah were already settled at our usual table with thick cigars between their fingers and snifters of Brandy within easy reach. The sight of them together always struck me, we were clearly brothers, carved from the same genetic blueprint but each distinct in our own way.
Xander looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover, his russet skin perfectly complemented by the autumn brown wool sweater that hugged his broad shoulders. His beard was trimmed to perfection, and his locs were pulled back, showing off the sharp angles of his jaw.
Elijah was two years younger, in dark molasses skin with hands that could perform miracles on the human brain but were currently wrapped around his Brandy glass. His low fade was crisp, his goatee immaculately groomed, and the sprinkle of hair on his forearms highlighted against the Edison bulbs. The maroon button-down he wore was expensive but understated, the quiet luxury that came with being one of the most respected neurosurgeons in the Midwest.
“I made your drink just in time,” Xander said as I approached. “We were about to send a search party.”
“Traffic was a bitch,” I said, settling into the chair they’d left for me. Elijah was already reaching for the bottle, refillinghis glass. “And I had to stop by the office. How’s the free clinic coming along?”
Elijah’s expression softened. The clinic he’d opened in North St. Louis was his passion project. It was a place where people without insurance could get quality medical care regardless of their ability to pay.
“We’re seeing about forty patients a week now. We had a grandmother come in yesterday with chest pains. Turned out to be anxiety, but she’d been putting off getting checked because she couldn’t afford it.” He took a sip of his drink. “It makes all the hospital politics worth dealing with.”
“That’s beautiful, man,” I said, meaning it. All three of us had been blessed with success and never forgot where we came from, making sure to give back to our communities in different capacities.
Xander lit his cigar, the flame casting shadows across his features. “Did you see that article in the Post-Dispatch about the team? They’re calling this our best season in five years.”
“Because it is,” Elijah said. “Y’all are actually playing like you remember what teamwork means.”
“Y’all?” Xander raised an eyebrow. “I’m in management now, little brother. I don’t kick balls anymore.”
“No, now you just kick ass when the players don’t perform.”
Their easy banter brought me relief after the confusion of the past few days. This was home, not the penthouse I owned or the office where I spent most of my waking hours, but this table with these men who’d known me since before I knew myself.
I lit my own cigar, savoring the slow burn and the way the smoke mixed with the air. “Where’s my niece?” I asked.
“With her grandmother,” Xander responded.
I nodded. “And how’s Mom doing with the new husband?”
“You mean stepfather number two?” Xander grinned. “She’s happy. Brent treats her like a queen, which is what she deserves after putting up with Dad’s foolishness for thirty years.”
“Dad’s not that bad,” Elijah protested, with a smirk.
