Epilogue
CASH “MONEY” BANKS
Jasmine wanted this to be a quick trip so her parents would stop bugging her about me.
I couldn’t blame them for being cautious.
Things had moved fast between us, and she was their only child.
But there were no rules to this love shit.
To take some of the pressure off, I suggested we turn it into a group trip.
I roped Jelani and Monica in since they were giving an exclusive relationship a go.
Slim invited himself as soon as he heard—he claimed he was bored—but we knew it was an excuse to see his shorty in Brooklyn.
Fontaine had left for Miami a few days earlier after getting a lead on where Nairobi might be.
“You bringing her home?” I asked when we linked up before he left.
“I don’t think she knows where home is,” he said.
There was a heaviness in his voice I’d never heard before.
I wasn’t sure how their story would end, but I hoped my boy wasn’t getting caught up chasing a ghost. We all loved Nairobi, but she was hardheaded, and Fontaine might be wasting his time trying to get her to come to her senses.
We settled into our seats on the plane. Two flight attendants were working the flight, and the pretty brown-skinned one immediately set her eyes on Jelani.
She was gonna be a problem. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek, low bun.
Her uniform was about a half size too small and clung to her curvy body.
Every time she passed Jelani, she showed all thirty-two of her teeth and lingered a little too long.
“The fuck she keep smiling in your face like that?” Monica muttered under her breath, side-eyeing the woman.
Jelani brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. “Chill, Baby Doll,” he said. “She’s just doing her job.”
The captain’s voice announced we’d be taking off soon as the attendants did their final sweep, and of course, that same flight attendant made her way back to Jelani’s seat, this time with an extra button on her blouse undone.
She leaned over him and batted her eyelashes. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked sweetly.
“You can get the fuck out his face,” Monica snapped. “He don’t need shit else.”
“Here we go,” Jasmine muttered next to me, shaking her head.
The attendant quickly stepped back, mumbling something about preparing for takeoff.
Jelani snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. “You ain’t have to do all that.”
“Don’t fucking play with me, Jelani,” Monica said as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Bitch had her titties in your face like she don’t see me sitting right here.
” She turned to me. “Money, these people work for you? Can you fire folks? Cause I don’t like that shit.
” She spoke loud enough for the flight attendant to hear.
“Monica!” Jasmine burst into laughter, covering her face with her hand.
Slim pulled his headphones down. “Y'all cutting up, and we haven’t even taken off. This about to be a long ass flight.”
I glanced over at Jasmine once we were in the air. She was staring out the window, deep in thought.
“What you over there thinking about?” I nudged her gently.
She smiled softly. “I’m just a little nervous.”
“You think Sydney Banks didn’t raise a gentleman?” I teased. “Stop worrying, it’ll be fine.” I kissed the top of her head.
When we landed in New York, her anxiety seemed to have gone up a notch, even though we weren’t heading to Queens until the next day.
“Jas, what’s the real issue? You barely said two words at dinner, and you were quiet the whole ride back,” I said, watching her take out her pajamas.
She huffed, tugging her tank top over her head. “Maybe we should’ve waited. I don’t know that I should’ve told them so soon.”
I scrunched up my face. I wasn’t used to seeing her like this. “You scared of your parents or something? I need to bring my gun?”
“Cash, please be fucking for real.” She glared at me. “And don’t bring your gun tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied. My gun was definitely coming to dinner.
She let out a deep sigh and climbed into bed, getting under the covers next to me. “I’m not scared of my parents. It’s just… a lot. I’m overwhelmed.”
I pulled her into my chest. “Where’s this coming from? Aren’t y’all close?” From everything she told me, her folks were everyday, God-fearing, upper-middle-class people who doted on their daughter. Nothing about them suggested they were difficult.
She intertwined her fingers with mine. “We are, but I’ve never really brought anyone around for them to meet. Not even…” she trailed off.
“They never met Marcus?” I asked, surprised, given their history.
“Nothing more than a brief hi,” she admitted. “He’d pick me up sometimes, but I mostly just met up with him. You know… the whole dating a dope boy thing.”
“Damn,” I said. “I definitely got it better than that bitch nigga in more ways than one.”
Jasmine groaned, burying her face in my chest. “Can you not?”
I chuckled. “Facts are facts, shorty. But seriously, any trouble I’ve gotten into has been scrubbed. And you already know I can handle myself.”
She tilted her head to look up at me. “I just want them to like you.”
“Jas, I’m not even gon’ hold you—it’d be great if your parents like me, but I don’t really care. That’s not gonna stop us from being together. If they don’t see how much I love you, then that’s on them, ain’t got shit to do with me.”
She let out a soft laugh. “You really don’t be giving a fuck, do you?”
“Nope,” I said, leaning down to kiss her. “Not too concerned with the opinions of other people. I give a fuck about you, my family, and this money. That’s it.”
She rolled her eyes, but I could feel the tension in her body finally ease. “Mhm. Love you too, nutty ass man.”
“You wanna show me how much you love me?” I said, kissing her deeper. My hand went to her neck, tightening around it slightly. Jasmine moaned low against my mouth before pushing away.
“We need to sleep,” she said breathlessly, biting her lip.
I could see the internal tug of war in her eyes, so I just laughed and turned off the lamp.
* * *
Jasmine’s parents lived in a nice-sized stone home in a quiet Queens suburb.
They had a small but well-kept lawn with trimmed rose bushes out front.
I’d kept my outfit simple—a black V-neck sweater and ash colored slacks.
Jasmine wore a fitted burgundy sweater dress, and her freshly braided hair was up in a bun.
Jasmine used her key to let us in. The second we stepped inside, the smell of dinner hit us— her mother was clearly throwing down in the kitchen. Oldies R&B drifted from deeper in the house.
“Mama!” Jas called as she kicked off her boots. I lingered in the entryway, glancing around the cozy space. The walls were lined with family photos, childhood pictures of Jasmine, and colorful art prints. Two antique-style sofas faced each other, with an ornate glass coffee table in the center.
A loud clatter followed by a squeal of laughter came from down the hall. A moment later, Jasmine reappeared with a petite woman a few shades darker than her—the same woman I'd seen in photos and on FaceTime calls. She had Jasmine’s high cheekbones, and her salt-and-pepper curly hair was cut low.
“Mommy, this is Cash,” Jasmine said, glancing nervously between us. “Cash, my mom.”
“It’s so nice to meet you in person, finally, Mrs. Miller,” I said. I stepped forward and offered her my hand.
“Boy!” Mrs. Miller swatted my hand away and pulled me into a warm hug instead. “And please, call me Vera.”
I handed her a gift bag. “Yes, ma’am,” I smiled.
“Oh, and he’s a real southern gentleman,” Vera teased as she peeked inside.
“Georgia born and raised,” I replied. “My mama would’ve cussed me out if I showed up empty-handed.”
Vera’s eyebrows shot up as she pulled out the bottle. “Dom Perignon?” She looked at Jasmine and started toward the kitchen. “I think I like this one, Jazzy Bear.”
Jasmine’s head whipped toward me. “You got a bottle of Dom?” she hissed under her breath.
I shrugged. “You wanted them to like me, right?” I might be a little rough around the edges, but Sydney didn’t raise no damn heathen.
All the counter space in the kitchen was full of food. There was roast chicken, a pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, and macaroni and cheese.
“Mama, why’d you cook all this food?” Jasmine asked. “It’s just the four of us.”
“The spirit of cooking took over this morning,” Vera said.
“Besides, leftovers mean I don’t have to cook for at least two days.
” She picked up the serving dish with mashed potatoes.
“Your father’s having a cigar in the basement.
I told him not to come up here smelling like smoke, but you know how he is. ”
“You want me to get him?” Jasmine asked.
“He’ll come up when he’s ready.” Vera pulled out a chair. “Come sit, I want to hear all about how y’all got together.”
Jasmine and I exchanged a glance. We’d already figured out the family-friendly version of our story to give to her parents that left out the kidnapping and all the shit with Marcus.
We sat and joked about how we first met.
Jasmine told Vera the story of me showing up on her date with Ahmad—or whatever that nigga’s name was—conveniently skipping the part where I pistol-whipped him.
A throat cleared in the doorway. I looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray streaks in his tapered fade. His tawny complexion matched Jasmine’s, and his solid build made it clear he could handle himself if needed.
“Daddy!” Jasmine shot out of her seat and wrapped him in a hug. It was clear my woman was a daddy’s girl, and there was no mistaking the love in his eyes for his daughter.
“Hey, Jazzy Bear,” he said with a soft smile.
Jasmine pulled back, still smiling, and turned to me. “Daddy, this is Cash. Cash, my dad.”
I stood and met his gaze head-on as I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller.”