Page 89 of Looking for Love in All the Haunted Places
Properly dressed and finally feeling ready, Lucky was immediately swept into the heart of the party.
Maverick stayed by her side as they mingled with guests. She began keeping tally every time she heardMaverick? Girlfriend?or some other variation with the same vibe. He apparently had a reputation as a perpetual bachelor and they’d all lost hope.
“Why do they all care so much that you were single for so long?” she whispered to him, after meeting the fourth auntie in a row.
“Because I have a kid. They’ve been after me for years to settle down for Rebel’s sake. They swear up and down she’s going to turn into a tomboy.”
“So what if she does? It’s her choice.”
“That’s what I said.” He grinned. “Never mind the fact that she gets mad anytime I even suggest she shouldn’t wear a dress.”
“Rebel knows who she is,” Lucky said, nodding. “She figured it out early.”
Maverick looked confused for a moment and then kissed her temple quickly. She didn’t miss his slightly strained smile or that it disappeared by the time he looked at her again.
“Hey.” Freddie appeared beside them, lightly punching Maverick in the shoulder. “They need help putting the food out.”
“Then go help them.”
“They asked for you. And her. Hey.” Freddie was Maverick’s height but larger. He had the breadth, stance, and energy of a linebacker. Fitting as he played football all his life until he graduated college with a degree in kinesiology. He recently transitioned to becoming the assistant coach at the same school.
“Hi.”
“I don’t know how you two met, but you’re too good for him. Run while you can.”
“I’m fine where I am.” She smiled sweetly, voice playfully firm. “Thank you, though.”
Freddie cocked a curious eyebrow, measuring her up and deciding his next move.
“Don’t try her,” Maverick warned. “She’s quick.”
Freddie considered it for a few more seconds before bowing out. “Kitchen,” he repeated as a parting.
“He’ll be back,” Maverick said as they walked. “Try not to stun him too bad.”
She laughed. “For you? I’ll consider it.”
The kitchen smelled wonderful—filled with the kinds of homemade food Lucky hadn’t eaten in years. Steaming rolls fresh out the oven, spicy collard greens, buttery corn cobs sprinkled with salt and pepper, proper potato salad, decadent macaroni and cheese, heavenly candied yams, and more.
She asked, “Is there spaghetti too?”
“Yeah,” Maverick said. “Pretty sure there is. Why?”
Lucky had to stop herself from drooling. She hoped this would happen. Every family was different with their own traditions and staple foods, but somehow most Black American families all followed the same cookout blueprint. She couldn’twaittoeat.
Mrs. Phillips instructed Maverick to start carrying the large aluminum pans wrapped in foil to the backyard. Silvia had been assigned to do the same and they walked out together.
“Lucky, here, please.” Mrs. Phillips waved her over. “How are you with cakes?”
“Um, fine?”
“That yellow one over there still needs to be frosted. Use the chocolate buttercream and knife next to it.”
Lucky washed her hands and got to work, smoothing a generous layer on top. She used anS-pattern like she’d been taught. Whenever her mom was in the mood to bake, it’d been Reggie’s job to pick the recipe and help with mixing, and Lucky’s job to decorate. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted, in any style, using any flavor, with extras like sprinkles and coconut shavings. They always had taste-testing parties after dinner, eating as much as they wanted.
It was easy to overlook those cherished good memories when they were tragically outnumbered by the bad. But they existed too. They happened.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Phillips said when Lucky finished. “Carry it outside for me?”
