Chapter 35
CHAPTER 35
FULL
One Week Later
Rivers Wilde
Houston, TX
Jules
“Are you hungry?” Omar asks.
“Famished. Is there somewhere we can stop before we get to the house?”
“Of course. We’d be spoiled for choice, actually. But for something quick, we’ll go to Sweet and Lo’s—you’ll love it. When we’ve got time, I’ll take you down to The Market.”
“Are we almost there?”
“Minutes away.”
My heart skips a beat. I’m about to meet his family, and I’m more than a little nervous.
We landed in Houston this morning and spent hours getting through immigration and claiming our luggage. From the awful smell of petrol that permeates the air around the airport to the endless stream of billboards and electrical wires that run along the freeways, my first impression of Houston is that of a soulless sprawl of commercial developments and concrete.
He pulls off the next exit and makes an almost immediate right turn.
The landscape transforms from the seemingly endless stretch of highway we’ve been on for nearly an hour to something out of a dream.
The road appears to be the main artery of the subdivision. It’s bisected by a grassy, tree-lined knoll that seems to double as a walking path.
From a multicolored structure that says “welcome” in at least a dozen languages to the wide, smoothly paved streets lined with glass-front shops to the strip of green tree-lined mall that divides one side of street from the other, it says, “This is a place where we live together. ”
When Omar promised that this place was going to make me feel at home instantly, I thought he was exaggerating. But he wasn’t.
Even from the car, the enclave of Rivers Wilde is nothing short of welcoming.
We approach a roundabout with a huge fountain in the center, and he takes the first exit. Ahead of us, the street seems to stretch on for miles, the uniformity of the storefronts disrupted by their individual logos, but the care in planning shows in every detail. Hyacinth blooms from bushes in between each shop, and a string of fairy lights runs from tree to tree in the center median.
He pulls into a parking spot. “We’re here.”
“Here” is a charming café that is straight out of one of the many American television shows that depict small town life as charming, eclectic, and warm.
“The Mastermind is back!” a dark-skinned man whose broad, toothy smile reminds me of my Dominic shouts when we walk in.
The same bright yellow signage that graces the glass-front window of the shop floats in suspension from the high ceiling above his head. “Sweet and Lo’s.”
“Lotanna, my man,” Omar greets the grinning man who steps around the counter and rushes toward us, arms outstretched.
“Sweet was going to send a search party looking for you soon.” They share a warm hug. Then Lotanna turns his beaming smile on me. “And then we saw your video. You naughty boy. How could you go find your wife and not call us immediately?”
I giggle at his calling Omar a naughty boy. He doesn’t look a day older than him. “I’m Jules.”
“Well, what a perfect name. You certainly are a jewel.” He holds his hand out for a shake, and I return his bright smile even though I’m a little bummed he didn’t hug me, too. “Thank you. So nice to meet you.” I take his hand.
“The pleasure is all mine.” He lifts my hand and bows a little to press a kiss to the back of it. Heat rushes up my neck at the compliment, and I glance at a grinning Omar. He mouths, I told you so.
Lotanna straightens. “Now I have to make sure we restock our PG tips for you, but until then, you have to try Sweet’s special blend.” He waves us toward a table. “Sit, let me bring you something.”
Omar shakes his head. “No, Lo, we’re not staying. We just landed and are exhausted.”
The other man nods with a knowing expression. “And your sister is waiting. I know. She came in earlier to buy scones for your British jewel.” He smiles at me. “I hope you like scones. She insisted all British people do.”
“I like them just fine.”
“Well, you wait until you taste them. They are very unique and made by our very own Regan Rivers.”
“Oh, like the same name that’s on the subdivision?” I ask, intrigued that this isn’t some large corporate development, but a family run one.
“Yes, she’s actually a Wilde—they founded this place we call home, but she married Mr. Rivers, and now I guess she’s both.”
“You, this man!” a loud feminine voice booms from behind us and I jump and glance over my shoulder.
A tall, statuesque woman with skin like polished mahogany and wide sparkling eyes that betray her disapproving frown approaches us. “This isn’t happy hour.” She comes to stand next to Lo and bumps his hip with hers. He turns to face her and narrows his eyes at her, but his smile is all tenderness. He taps a finger on the tip of her nose. “It’s always happy hour when you’re here.” He leans down to kiss her. “And don’t shout at me in front of Omar’s wife.”
“What?” She turns her head sharply toward us, her eyes wide as she looks between Omar and me. “You got married and you didn’t even bring her to meet me first?” she scolds Omar with a wag of her finger. She looks at me and then clasps her hands in front of her chin and grins from ear to ear. “Oh, you dey too fine.” She reaches over to nudge Omar’s shoulder with a playful smile. “I see why you dey hide ‘em,” she says with a sly smile.
“Why, thank you. But he hasn’t been hiding me,” I respond with a smile as wide as hers. “It’s been years since I heard anyone speak pidgin.”
“Dear Lord,” Sweet gasps and presses a hand to her chest. “She understands pidgin. Omar, I approve of your wife.” She pulls me into a warm hug. She smells like garlic and lemons, and by the time she lets me go, I’m looser and lighter. And pretty sure she’s my new favorite person.
“I’m not actually his wife,” I correct, but this time with a laugh.
“Trust me, you are. If he has brought you home, then that’s what you are,” she beams at me. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Sweet… in name and spirit.”
“Until you insult Nigerian jollof.” Omar winks at her.
“ That is a hill she will die on,” Lo chimes in.
“Stop telling tales about me.” She smacks his arm and then tugs it to pull him into a hug. “We’re so happy to have you back. The place wasn’t the same without your scowl or your ability to clear a room with one look,” she says, patting his back and smiling with her eyes closed.
I can’t believe Omar has never mentioned these people or this place. Out of sight is out of mind for him, I guess. But I can’t imagine, even if this is my only encounter with them, that I’ll ever forget it.
“Is this place yours?” I ask, looking around the large, beautifully decorated café. It’s relatively uncrowded at ten in the morning, but it’s got the capacity for a large number of people.
“You’re lucky you came before the lunch rush starts. Otherwise, I would have had to wave at you from the kitchen.”
“I’m glad, too. It’s nice to be back.”
“I hope you’re staying for as long as you were gone.” She looks expectantly between the two of us.
I reach for Omar’s hand and lace our fingers together. “I hope so, too.”
“Let me give you some of the kolaches we have left over from breakfast. And your honeycomb latte. Do you want two or does your lady only drink tea?”
He grins at her and turns his gaze to me. “Coffee or tea?”
I hate to live up to the stereotype, but my nerves are already dancing around like crazy, so I ask for one of the sparkling fruit spritzers I spied on their menu.
“A woman after my own heart.” Sweet smiles and disappears. The door chimes, and Lo’s attention turns to the customers that just walked in. “Okay, let me go and do my work. But come back tomorrow for breakfast, and we’ll talk. I want to hear all about the lady who harpooned you.”
“Wow, they’re lovely,” I whisper as we stand aside and wait for Sweet to come back with whatever it was she said she was bringing. I’ve forgotten already, but I haven’t forgotten the excitement on her face as she mentioned it.
“Yeah, everyone here is…in their own way.” His smile is so fond and endearing.
“Why haven’t you ever mentioned them?”
“Honestly, since I met you, this place fell into my rearview. Working on the house in London, living there I started to think of it as home. But yeah, this place is great.”
The affection in his voice squeezes my heart. “How did you find it?”
“A friend of a friend recommended it. I moved in right before my first semester and never left. And that was my study spot most days.” He turns us and then points to a table in the corner, partially obscured by a huge glass display case where mouthwatering sandwiches and pastries are laid out and calling my name.
“I’m going to need a new wardrobe if we stay here long. Good Lord, but no one can beat you Yanks when it comes to portion size.”
“That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”
“I guess…it’s the first time I’ve thought of you that way.”
“Mr. Solomon?” We turn to find a young woman, dark-haired and remarkably pretty, whose nametag reads Bianca holding a white pastry bag and a drink carrier. “Sweet asked me to bring this out and told me to say she was sorry, but she had to get something into the oven.”
“Thank you.” I take them out of her hands, and her eyes widen.
“Are you English?” Her voice has an awe in it that I don’t understand.
“I am,” I answer.
She beams and claps her hands together. “Oh my gosh, I love your accent. I love London. I’ve only been once but—” She claps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I talk too much, and you’re taking this to go. Uh, Sweet put some of the garlic knots in there, but frozen so you need to heat your oven to 350 and pop them in for ten minutes,” she recites.
“Okay, thank you.”
“Gosh, I could listen to you talk…”
“Bianca, there are customers waiting,” Lo chides from behind the register, and her freckled cheeks flush.
“Bye for now. Nice to see you, Mr. Solomon. I’ll tell my dad you’re back.”
“Who’s her father?” I ask as we walk back out to the street where we parked and stroll to the car hand in hand.
“Remington Wilde.”
“Oh. The lawyer we spoke with. Oh my goodness, Wilde. Like the neighborhood.”
“Yes, his grandfather and father founded this place.”
“And that’s his daughter? It’s totally a family affair, huh?” I ask, excited and feeling a sense of longing that I wish I didn’t. “So is this like the high street?” I settle the food on my lap and buckle the safety belt.
“Yeah, I guess you’d call it that. The rest of the neighborhood shoots off from the roundabout at the top of the street.”
“Okay, and that’s where your house is?”
“Yes, I’ll show you as we drive. And later we can walk back down. It’s nice at night, too.”
“Okay,” I say, expelling a deep breath as my nerves start again.
“Don’t be nervous. They’ll love you.” He reads my mind and squeezes my hand before he pulls out of the parking spot and joins the light flow of traffic.
He drives like he does everything else: confidently and deliberately, but fast. The high street rushes past outside in a blur, but I make out a huge salon, a yoga studio, a greeting card shop, and a bookstore and make note of all of them.
“Wow, you don’t have to leave for anything, do you?”
“That’s the whole point,” he agrees as we approach the roundabout he mentioned. And it’s like stepping into an entirely different landscape than the high street. A seemingly endless stream of cars make their way around, and in the center is a huge brass horse with a crown on its head and a huge R and W on its chest.
“That way to the office park and the market, which is actually a huge food hall and market.” He points to the right as we pass the first offshoot. “That way to the high-rise community.” He points down a long street that appears to be another, more modern take on the high street. “There is where the schools, the management office, and the post office are.” He points down another long tree-lined lane. “And this is The Oaks,” he says as we turn onto a street flanked by bronze gates.
“This is the place you live if you want quiet mornings and evenings and space enough so your neighbors can’t hear you screaming when you come.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what they had in mind when they built it.” I give him an indulgent smirk before I turn my attention to the window. The houses that line this street are detached brick, two-story villa-like homes with large, beautifully manicured lawns and trees with large glossy green leaves and fat, lush cream-colored flowers hanging from them. Two women walk hand in hand behind three young children on bicycles with bright helmets and huge smiles.
A South Asian man stands in his driveway watering a flowerbed, and a woman with dark hair is kneeling down in the grass next to him, digging. Similar scenes greet me as we turn and meander deeper into the subdivision. The houses change, depending on the street, some small bungalows, some huge mini mansions, but there’s a cohesiveness in the sense they all give of being home, and refuge.
“We’re here,” Omar says, and we turn into a drive that makes a half circle in front of a huge white brick house with black shutters and large windows on its facade. The front is lined with hedgerows, and the black lacquered front door is lined with bright pink flowers I don’t recognize. “This is so beautiful,” I sigh and unbuckle my seatbelt. “How could you bear to leave it?” I ask, genuinely amazed that he could.
“I guess I knew something better was waiting for me.”
“Aww, my love. Thank you.” I lean over the center console, and he meets me halfway. It was meant to be a light, quick kiss, but it’s the first time our lips have touched since we arrived, and my hunger for him is ignited. We linger on each other’s mouths, and every time one of us pulls away, the other pulls them back. The slam of the front door comes just as his tongue darts out to probe my mouth, and he groans.
“Later,” I whisper and take a deep breath before I face his family.
A small woman with long, dark hair and a glowing honey brown complexion a shade or two darker than Omar’s is rushing toward us. She’s waving a tea towel in the air and sporting a grin that I’d know anywhere—it’s the same as Omar’s from her fuller top lip and dimples to the way her nose crinkles at the same time. “Show time,” he says before he opens the car door.
“What does that mean?” I ask, but he’s out and grabbing his sister into a hug before I even finish my sentence.
I open my door and climb out. I hope he’s right. We didn’t talk about how we’d answer questions about my past. Despite what the record states, the fact that the people who know me best believe me has given me a sense of freedom from the stigma and shame I’ve walked around with.
But I’m not sure now what I’ll say if they ask about my parents.
“Layel—this is my heart. I call her Beat, but you can call her Jules.”
“Jules.” Layel cries my name like it’s a declaration and throws her arms around me. She’s several inches shorter than me, and I bend a little to hug her back. “Oh my God. My brother is in love, fucking finally. I’m so happy to meet you. You have to show me your ways because there’s no one he has ever called his love with that look in his eyes before.”
She lets me go but grabs hold of my hand. “Mar, my baby, you’re all grown up,” she says with pride on her face.
He runs a tender hand over her head. “Had to happen sometime.”
They exchange a smile and then she claps her hands together as if to commence a race. “Let’s get inside. Do you need help with your luggage?”
Omar shakes his head and heads to the back of the car. “No, I’ve got it. But you can take this.” He hands her the bag from Sweet and Lo’s.
She slaps him with the tea towel. “You didn’t. I’ve been cooking all morning.”
He scowls. “I’ll tell you what… I haven’t missed how deft you are with that towel.”
“Well, if you weren’t so naughty, I wouldn’t need to be,” she shoots back without any apology.
She drapes an arm around my waist. “I’ve always wanted a sister,” she says softly. And in a louder voice, “I hope you don’t get tired of his bad attitude and dump him.”
“You must be talking about yourself. No one has ever dumped me.”
“Only ’cause you didn’t give them the chance,” she says. She looks at me, grins, and winks. “Come on in. I’ll heat up whatever Sweet sent over since you’re hungry. Dad is coming over to eat, but he won’t be here for another hour.”
“I can wait,” I say and let her lead me inside. I was hungry when we arrived, but right now, I feel incredibly full.