Page 77 of Before I Let Go

“I hear that belly talking already.” She laughs, gesturing toward a clear section of the kitchen island. “Set the food down.”

Kassim and I place our boxes down carefully. Carole slides her hands into the front pockets of an apron with “Not Your Grandma’s Grandma” printed on the front.

“And who we got here?” Carole asks, studying Vashti over the rims of her glasses with a friendly smile.

“This is Vashti,” I say. “Vashti, Carole Miller.”

“So nice to meet you,” Vashti says, setting down the dish she’s carrying.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Carole lifts the top of one of Vashti’s pans. “Hmmmph. Salmon croquettes.”

“Yes, ma’am. My mama’s recipe,” Vashti says, some of the uncertainty leaving her voice now that they’re discussing food. “For the corn pudding too.”

“Corn pudding?” Carole’s expression turns alert. “And where is that?”

Vashti lifts the lid on another dish, revealing the golden yellow, sweet-smelling pudding.

“It’s been years since I had this.” Carole smiles approvingly. “Where your people from?”

“All my family lives in California now,” Vashti says. “But they moved out west from Louisiana originally.”

“Oh, so you got some Cajun in your blood.”

“I do. Look at these.” Vashti grins and pulls the lid from a sealed container, revealing beignets dusted with powdered sugar.

“How close are we to eating?” I groan.

“We’re ready,” Carole replies absently, eyes still feasting on the beignets. “Soon as Yas comes. She went up to shower and change. She’ll be down in a sec, and we can get started.”

“I’m here.”

Yasmen enters the kitchen, ushering in a scent that is the sweetness of vanilla. Gold clamps are scattered throughout the braids twisted into an upswept style. Her black wide-legged pants and fitted kelly green sweater show off the dips and flares of her lush figure. A matte red pout is painted onto her lips. All those details make her look fresh and pretty, but it’s the earrings that capture my attention.

“You found them!” Kassim says, walking over to gently tug on the painted turkey earrings dangling from her ears.

“Yes.” She grins back at him. “They were in a box at the back of my closet with some other jewelry I’d misplaced. I can’t even remember which birthday you guys gave them to me for now.”

“Thirtieth,” I say, biting my tongue too late.

Yasmen turns her gaze to me like she’s just noticing I’m here. Her smile falters for a second before she steadies it.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I think you’re right.”

I know I’m right because that’s the year I gave her a gold necklace with a tiny wheel charm. “Till the wheels fall off” was inscribed on the back. I’m sure she’s lost that, too, but probably hasn’t bothered looking for it since the wheels definitely fell off our marriage.

“Hey, Vashti.” Yasmen smiles, lifting the lids on a few dishes. “Thank you for coming and bringing so much food.”

“It was nothing.” Vashti’s nervousness seems to have vanished, and her smile is wide and natural. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course.” Yasmen’s gaze skitters over me and to Carole. “We ready, Mama?”

“All them hungry folks in the living room hope so.” Carole chuckles. “Like six of your staff from Grits actually showed up.”

Pleasure brightens Yasmen’s expression. That woman loves a party. The more the merrier. “Then let’s do it.”

It’s good to see so many familiar faces from the restaurant around the table as we load our plates and dive in. Milky ends up seated on one side of me and Vashti on the other.

“How’s your daughter, Milk?” I ask, trying to decide where to start on my plate loaded with everything from macaroni and cheese to Carole’s famous cornbread.

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