Page 225 of Lovers' Dance

“No,” he said, with traces of amusement in his voice. “Let’s hear it. Tell me why you think I would be uncomfortable.”

I exhaled noisily through my nose. “Because you’re the only white spot on a black page. Idiot.”

Matt stared at me for a second, then started to laugh.

“Shush,” I chastised.

“Oh, poppet, I swear,”—he stole another kiss—“I did not know true humour until I met you. Absolutely delightful you are.”

“I’m glad you find me funny.” The sharp retort on the tip of my tongue got put on hold when Ms Patsy popped back into the hallway. She caught sight of me and Matt, and her face shone with pleasure.

She had set this up. Low down, no good—

“Hello again, Matthew,” she said, coming towards us.

Matt turned with a polite smile on his face. He had turned against the wall, his tight ass hidden from Ms Patsy’s hands.

“Hello and Happy Thanksgiving, by the way,” he said.

“Same to you.” She patted me on the cheek as she passed by. “I’ll be seeing you two in an hour’s time. I can’t wait to be seated around the table with everyone. We’ll have a nice catch up, Madison, and you can tell me all about this hunk of yours.”

My poor hunk was having his own cheeks squished. He looked like he was seconds away from giving Ms Patsy a stern telling off for invading his personal space. I had to do something.

“I’ll walk you out.” I grabbed her arm and sashayed her out of the house. I ignored the chorus of requests for more beer on my way to the kitchen. Matt was there, asking Aunt Cleo if there was anything he could do to assist her. A tight-lipped no was his answer. I touched his hand as we passed each other and mouthed “love you” to him. Then, it was back to cooking.

Uncle David’s mom and sister kept popping into the kitchen, getting underfoot and making nice-but-not-really-nice comments to Aunt Cleo. When Latisha stationed herself by the door leading out back, I knew it was a matter of time before tempers became frayed. I prayed the food would be done by then and people would be too busy eating to argue.

Thanksgiving was like a warm-up run to Christmas, and everyone knew the drama that came with Christmas. Too much alcohol loosening too many tongues. A sharp comment here that leads to a potential fight. I hoped this warm-up was peaceful.

“—thinks she’s too good for us now,” I overheard coming from the snug.

I had been on my way to the back of the house where the extra-long table that had been used to lay the food out for last night’s party was now being dressed for our meal. I paused outside the partially open door, clutching the lace tablecloth Auntie Cleo had instructed me to put down.

“—nothing more than a glorified hoe.”

That couldn’t be me being referred to? It couldn’t. Then I heard Jenny’s voice joining in.

“You know he’s gonna leave her ass for a white girl.”

They laughed. More of a cackle, like hyenas. I kicked the door open with my foot, tablecloth clutched in my arms, as I glared at Jenny and the two girlfriends of Latisha’s sons sipping wine.

“Excuse me?” My voice was higher than normal. “I know you’re not talking about me in here.”

They looked startled for a second before they smirked amongst themselves.

“Girl, we’re keeping it real,” Rashid’s girlfriend said. I think her name was Sharon, maybe Shonda.

“Who are you again? You don’t know me so don’t talk about my business like it’s yours.”

“Madi, chill out,” Jenny drawled, getting up from the chair she’d been curled in.

“Don’t tell me to ‘chill out’, Jen,” I snarled. “I’m your blood. Why the hell are you talking about me with these strangers?”

“Stranger?” The other one—I couldn’t remember her name—said, “Who is she calling a stranger? We’re part of this family—”

“Oh, shut up,” I retorted.

“Don’t tell her to shut up,” Sharon, or Shonda, exclaimed. “Your business is out there anyway. Rashid’s shown me that stuff on the Internet—”

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