Page 45 of Touched Down

Dad starts small talk with Mom, undoubtedly hoping to thwart the conversation about Jasmine’s attitude that he knows is coming later.

After a few minutes, I tell Jasmine, “I’m going.”

“Hell yes,” she says in a hushed tone.

“I feel like I have to face the ladies now or later. I might as well go and meet them all and get it out of the way. I’m sure Moey Dash will be there, but that’s okay. I will just avoid her. We both will,” I say, giving Jasmine a pointed look.

Jasmine whispers, “We ain’t avoiding shit. I wanted you to avoid the internet when you were depressed and in bed, but if she comes in our face on some fake, trying to be your friend mess, I’m taking her ass to church.”

Overhearing Jasmine, my father smiles again. He nods in agreement, then leans toward Jasmine and says, "That’s right. Lay hands on her and anoint her with the spirit of a good ole Banks butt-whipping."

My mother plops her glass of sweet tea on the table and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Calvin!”

“We’re just joking around,” he says. “I’m sure our daughters will show her the class you’ve taught them.” He winks at Jasmine.

Mom warns, “Just be careful with those ladies. If it doesn’t feel right, make up an excuse and leave. You don’t have to surround yourself with anyone that doesn’t add value to your life.”

“Listen to Iyanla Vanzantz over there,” Jasmine whispers, eliciting a chuckle from me and my father.

“What did you say?” my mother asks.

Jasmine shrugs. “Nothing.”

I attempt to put my mother’s mind at ease. “I will leave if any trouble starts, Mom. And so will Jasmine.”

“Good. At least one of my daughters doesn’t think she’s in the WWE. So good to have you back home, Les.” She graces me with a motherly smile.

Jasmine rolls her eyes and huffs, but she doesn’t reply. Which is good for her. If she keeps poking our mother bear, we’ll all have a front-row seat to see where Jasmine gets her temper and hands.

I return to my dinner, smiling and feeling more confident about my decision. Maybe this is what I need, a chance to prove that I can handle the scrutiny of others without Wayne having to fight back for me. I can handle those ladies. Let me rephrase that; I will handle those ladies.

I just have to go home and tell Wayne about my plan to hang out with the Saint’s Heartbeats. Even thinking about their name makes me chuckle. Visions of Eddie Kang and the Five Heartbeats dancing and sweating on stage almost have me laughing out loud.

“What’s so funny?” Jasmine asks.

I shake my head and say, “Thanks for going with me next week to hang out with the heartbeats.”

She frowns. “The heartbeats?”

“They call themselves the Saints’ Heartbeats.”

Jasmine bursts out laughing. “Oh, this is going to be so, so much fun.” She glances at our mother to ensure she’s not looking, then crosses her fork over her knife in a fighting pattern. “And you know I’m down for whatever with them heartbeat bitches.” She tries to be serious but then bursts into another fit of laughter at the name.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Wayne

Cigars and Conversation Pt. 1

I’m sitting in the den, about to light up a cigar, when the bell rings.

“Don’t move. I’ll get it,” Marjorie calls from the kitchen.

“I’m almost there,” I tell her, dropping the cigar back into the brown, velvet box and cutting her off before she enters the hallway.

“Are you going to let us help you tonight?” my mother yells from the kitchen archway. She has her hands on her hips and is pouting while holding a glass bowl. “I thought that’s why we were here.”

“Preparing our food is more than enough. Let me get the door so I can feel like I’m helping out with something,” I say, urging both apron-wearing women back to the kitchen before striding to the door.

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