Page 72 of Before I Let Go

Tells: biting her bottom lip, tugging her left earlobe, crease between her brows.

I wait for her to decide if whatever she’s working up to is worth saying.

“I mean, you could bring Vashti with you,” she says after another three seconds. “To Thanksgiving dinner, I mean.”

ThatI didn’t expect.

“Vashti? You’re saying I should bring her with me to Thanksgiving dinner?”

Hearing it aloud seems to give her pause. She nods slowly, blinking several times as if she’s processing it herself.

“Yes. If you want. It’s up to you. I mean, the kids will want you there and—”

“I’ll ask what she wants to do and let you know. Thanks for thinking of her.”

“Of course,” she says, and without any more conversation that could turn awkward, she leaves.

Chapter Twenty-One

Yasmen

So let me get this straight,” my mother says.

I stop washing the sweet potatoes in the sink to glance at her. If looking at Deja is looking in a rearview mirror to my past self, looking at my mother offers a possible glimpse into my future. Besides a few lines around her eyes, her skin remains taut and smooth and brown. Pretty sure my mother has used Noxzema her whole life. I used to watch her smear the thick white cream on sometimes at night. Nothing fancy or expensive. Everything straight from the drugstore, but her skin is fantastic. I can only hope I look like this when I’m her age.

“You thought it was a good idea,” she continues, eyes narrowed behind her red-framed glasses, “to invite Josiah and his new girlfriend to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Mama, it’ll be fine.” I turn off the water and put the sweet potatoes in a bowl on the counter. “These are clean.”

“Peel ’em. What’s her name again?”

“Vashti.”

She knows this. She’s asked three times, and my mother could remind elephants where they left things. Avoiding her sharp gaze, I start peeling the potatoes.

“I told them dinner was at four. That still okay?” I ask.

“Mmmmhhh. She’s a cook, you say?”

“A world-class chef, yes.” I suppress a smile because I already know where this is going.

“But she knows I’m cooking this dinner, right?” Mama takes a sip of her eggnog. She doesn’t wait for Christmas. “She can bring a few sides, but—”

“She did ask if she could bring something, of course, and I told her we’d love that, but that you’re cooking the—”

“The turkey, the greens, the yamsandsweet potato casserole, the neck bones.”

“I’m sure we’re safe on the neck bones.”

“The string beans, the fried chicken, the—”

“Mama, yes. She’s bringing a few sides that you arenotcooking. It’ll be fine.”

“Areyoufine?”

“What do you mean?”

Mama leans one rounded hip against the counter and pushes her glasses up to the top of her head. “Girl, don’t play with me. I raised you. I know you. How you feel about Josiah dating this woman?”

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