Page 7 of Saving the Last Heir
“Yes, jackass,” I said. “I told you last week. The entire neighborhood is invited.”
“Free food? Free beer? Is Jalina making her famous churros?” Reggie asked as he scrubbed motor oil from his dark brown hands. “She brought those to that Christmas party a while back.”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” I said. “It starts in an hour, make sure you all shower or put on deodorant.”
“She’s talking to you, Brent,” Carlo laughed as I headed for the door.
The last thing I heard before the door closed behind me was Brent shouting back, “Oh, screw you, Carlo. Have you smelled yourself?”
I hopped into my Jeep and pulled out of my parking spot. The late afternoon was warm, and I was glad I’d removed the doors a few days prior. A pleasant breeze blew across me, cooling the sweat on my skin. The flesh of my arms was a darkly tanned olive due to the melanin gifted to me by my mother, who’d been a gorgeous Black woman. I’d inherited my thick, auburn hair from the rich white guy who’d gotten her pregnant and then bounced.
Whenever I looked in the mirror, I always tried to see my mother in me rather than the man who’d broken her heart—a man I’d never met and most likely never would. Though, my green eyes told a different story. I’d always been told the combination of darker skin and green eyes was striking and beautiful, which Ididagree with, but it was always a reminder of all that I’d lost. There were times I wondered what it must be like to have a normal family. To have a mother who hadn’t died a few days after you’d been born, and a father who hadn’t run off before the piss had even dried on the pregnancy test. I loved Marquel, and I couldn’t imagine a man being a better father to me than he had been, but it had been a strain on him to take care of a girl he had no blood relation to. Part of why I was working so damn hard to get his garage back into the black was so I could take care of him.
Hitting the clutch and brake, I swung into our driveway and parked the Jeep. Folks had already started showing up, milling around the small front yard, chatting and laughing while music played in the background. I smiled at the sight. Not one person was related to Marquel or me, but the people from the neighborhood enjoyed the company.
I’d always been drawn to community, stability, and anything that resembled family. It was why I enjoyed barbecues, bonfires, and even little backyard concerts from local musicians. Anything to bring people together and show love for those who supported us. I wished I could do for everyone in the neighborhood what I’d done for Dominic today.
“Hey there, little girl,” Marquel called from the porch.
I waved and smiled, but my grin faltered when he winced as he struggled to his feet. His face paled as he clutched the porch rail.
“Dad, are you okay?” I said, hurrying up the steps to help him.
He waved a hand at me. “I’m fine. Just an old man with old man problems.”
I put an arm around him and helped him down the steps to the grass. “You’re barely sixty, I wouldn’t call that old.”
He brushed his long dark hair back over his shoulder and winked at me.
“That’s true,conejita. They say sixty is the new thirty. Speaking of, you’re almost thirty. You don’t have any cute ladies to set me up with, do you?”
“Eww, gross. No,” I said. “And watch it. I’m twenty-nine. I have almost a whole year before I hit old age.”
Marquel laughed. “When it’sme,sixty is young, but foryouthirty is old. I see how it is.” His smile slipped as he stopped to catch his breath. “I’m going to go sit at the patio table.”
“Okay, Dad,” I muttered, allowing him to head that way. He looked far more tired than he should have. His wiry frame had always been surprisingly strong because of the years of workingon engines and transmissions, lifting, shoving, and twisting machinery and parts. In the last few years, though, I’d seen some of that sinewy muscle fade.
Before my mind could drift toward the frailties of my surrogate father, a voice called out to me.
“Hey, Shyanne. We made it.”
Turning, I found Dominic and his ten-year-old brother, Anthony, standing at the edge of the yard.
“Wow,” I said, grinning at him. “You came. I’m so glad. I hope you’re hungry. Mrs. Paola down the street is supposed to be bringing anentireroast pig.”
“Like…the face and everything?” Anthony asked, his face twisting in disgust.
“I think I have some chicken nuggets in my freezer, if that sounds better?” I said with a smile.
Dom nudged his brother and scowled at him. Anthony quickly plastered a smile on his face.
“No. That’s fine. I’ll…” He went a little green in the cheeks and swallowed hard. “Uh, I’ll eat its face and ears if I have to.”
I laughed and ruffled his hair. “I think we can find some better parts to eat than that.”
Over the next hour, the rest of the neighborhood arrived, filling our yard and home with laughter and voices, and in doing so, filling me with happiness.
“Everybody get over here,” I called out after the last guest had arrived and the food had been set up in a makeshift buffet. “Someone say grace before we dig in.”
