Chapter 39 #2
Chi lounged back in his chair, a mischievous grin on his face as if he were watching the best episode of a sitcom he didn’t know he was a part of.
“This feels like a deleted scene from 'Coming to America'. But hey, since no one has said it yet… welcome!”
My chair scraped back so hard it cried across the floor.
I didn’t even feel myself stand up. It wasn’t their lighthearted jabs that set me off; those were the playful antics I had grown to love.
The real source of my distress was Giselle—The Wicked Witch of Wine Nights, decked out in high-end designer clothing, her entitlement oozing from her every pore.
Imanio leapt to his feet beside me.
My chest heaved as if I had just sprinted through a battlefield. My fingers shook uncontrollably, and my tongue pressed hard against the roof of my mouth, trying to keep my tics at bay.
“ White-on-white crime incoming! You snake in stilettos! Bible study, but violent!” I shouted, a chaotic mix of emotions flooding my voice.
The room fell into stunned silence, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape.
“Whoa. Baby, do… do you know these people?” Imanio asked, his voice low but sharp with concern.
My breath hitched.
“They’re… they’re my parents. And that’s my sister,” I divulged.
Imanio paused like he had to remind himself he was at a dinner table and not a war table. Then he turned to Giselle, slowly… dangerously.
"Don’t tell me you did what I think you did,” he said, each word carefully selected.
Giselle stood with her wine glass raised like she was making a toast in hell.
“What?” she said smoothly. “It’s a reunion. I thought it was time.”
“ You thought?” Imanio growled, eyes narrowing like loaded triggers. “Giselle, you really went behind my back and hers and brought people she cut off—without at least speaking to one of us first. You know… asking if she still fucked with them or not?”
“I didn’t think it was a problem. Forgive me for wanting to understand her roots,” Giselle replied, tone sweet like spoiled fruit. “You never told me she was Nigerian.”
“Maybe because you never got the chance to really know her to find out. Secondly, it wasn’t your business,” he snapped. “And why the fuck would that matter? And if you wanted to understand her roots, that’s what Google is for. So try again!”
“Now who in their right mind invites the ghost of trauma to a damn dinner table?” Mama Rose voiced her opinion. “Chile, we was supposed to be eating’ greens, not unpacking’ grief. I don’t even know the situation, but there’s some trauma there, the way that baby is looking.”
I began to spiral.
My fist hit the table with a thud.
“ Who boiled the devil and served him dinner?! You ain’t got no love in that wine glass, just vinegar and vibes !”
Then—with a calmness that belied my rising anger—I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “You really sat there and made your curiosity more important than my peace. Rebuke your brunches in satin! Karma’s on her period and you’re next!”
Giselle shook her head slowly, stepping back like the very air she breathed had turned poisonous.
The room went quiet until my father finally spoke, his voice low and commanding.
“We only came because this lady told us our daughter wanted to see us. We were told Naji had invited us.” My mom’s eyes welled up with tears, guilt painted all over her carefully done face. “We would never have shown up just to be used as weapons against her.”
“Well, s-she lied,” I rasped, the words dry in my throat before my tics shoved their way forward: “Dead dandelions in Dior! Bloodline betrayal!”
I turned toward Imanio, my tics slicing through my chest, my neck, my hands like wires sparking on contact.
“T-take me out of here! Emergency exit—liar in lace!—cancel the communion!”
Before I could finish, he was already guiding me out of the room, his hand a steady anchor against the chaos rolling through me. We moved down the hall and into a quiet room off the kitchen.
I collapsed onto the bed—hands trembling, legs no longer willing to hold me up.
Imanio knelt in front of me, his hands warm on both sides of my face.
“Breathe in and out, baby,” he coached. “You’re okay. I’m here. And remember… they do not get to control your peace.”
“I h-hate her! And I don’t hate anyone… but her,” I cried, tears rushing down like they’d been waiting weeks.
“If it makes you feel better, baby… I hate her too.”
A hiccup of a laugh slipped out between my sobs as another tic hit me:
“She got me shaking like a Target candle!”
Imanio let out a chuckle, low and tender. “That means you still got your fire.”
We sat like that for a moment—me trying to catch my breath, him holding my soul steady like it was something he’d done a thousand times.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. “I… I can finish the dinner. I’ve been saving this appetite all day, and the food smells good.” I gave a weak chuckle, wiping my face. “But they have to leave. I can’t deal with them tonight. I can’t.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You don’t have to forgive them tonight… or ever. I can get rid of them if you want me to. You know that’s my specialty.” He winked.
I grinned. “Y-yeah, I do. You can talk to them. Just don’t overdo it. I… I don’t want them to leave here and hurt themselves in fear that you will.”
“Okay, for you I’ll keep it straight to the point.”
We kissed—messy, emotional… and just dangerous enough to make my heart race. When we finally came up for air, his thumb traced the curve of my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing it.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Promise me you’ll never forget that.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his words. “And you’re so damn handsome. You should promise me the same.”
Imanio flashed a self-assured smirk. “I don’t need to promise. I’m well aware of it.”
“Ugh! Y-you’re so cocky.” I giggled. “I wonder if Chi has any weed on him tonight. I… I could use a smoke.”
He chuckled and replied, “Him? Always. I’ll get some for you tonight so that you can relax. You ready to go back out there?”
“N-not really… but my stomach is touching my spine.”
We both laughed.
“Mine too,” he said, standing and adjusting his shirt. “But I got you, baby.”
I smiled appreciative. “And I g-got you tonight too,” I voiced in a low, lascivious tone.
Imanio raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, yeah? Then let’s hurry up and get this damn dinner over with.”
When we reentered the room, all eyes went on us.
Imanio moved with quiet rage straight toward my parents, his steps steady, his jaw tight.
“Y’all need to go,” he stated firmly. “This ain’t goodbye, but it damn sure ain’t the right time.”
My father leaned forward slightly; his pleading eyes locking with mine.
“Naji—”
Before he could finish, Imanio slammed his palm down on the table— hard —causing my mom to flinch and my sister to gasp.
“Imanio,” I warned, placing a hand on his arm.
“I’m not ready for this conversation,” I told them quietly, but with all the strength I could pull up from my trembling chest. “Not tonight… and especially not here. Now, please respect that.”
My father straightened up, then turned to Giselle, voice low but pointed.
“We’ll leave. But before we do, you owe us and our daughter an apology. We weren’t perfect, no. But she didn’t deserve to be ambushed, and neither did we.”
Giselle scoffed loudly. “I’m not?—”
Imanio’s head snapped toward her, slow and lethal, like a cobra about to strike.
She immediately froze under his scrutinizing gaze, recognizing the dangerous shift in the atmosphere. And just like that, her tone changed.
With a tightness in her throat, Giselle managed to utter, “I’m… sorry,” each word emerging through her clenched teeth, as if every syllable extracted cost her an organ.
That woman was pitiful.
As my family turned to leave, I just watched. I didn’t move or speak. My throat tightened like it knew better than to let anything out.
My sister glanced back for only a second—her eyes wide, soft, and unsure, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
She hadn’t said a word the entire time. My mom looked down, her mouth pressed in a line of guilt, and my father…
he wore that quiet weight that spoke more of regret than anything else.
Before stepping out, my mom quietly said they were staying at the Ellington Grand downtown, if I wanted to talk—I didn’t respond.
Giselle’s voice was low and bitter as she spoke to Imanio, laced with the kind of venom only pride could produce.
“I’m really convinced you love embarrassing me now,” she gritted through clenched teeth.
“You embarrassed yourself, Giselle… you always do,” he replied coolly. “All I did was give you the audience. But then again… you always bring the audience too.”
“And marrying her? You just did it to make me the mockery of this town, huh?”
Imanio’s demeanor darkened at the mention of me.
As he approached her, the energy in the room shifted. Everyone shrank back in their chairs. Even Chi put his damn fork down and whispered, “Oh, shit.”
Imanio’s voice dropped to that tone—the one I’d only heard a handful of times before. It was cold, quiet, and terrifying.
“You really think me marrying Naji was because of you ? That I brought her into my life—into my crib, into my personal space, into my soul—just to spite you or give a damn what other muthafuckas would say about you? You really think you’re that important?”
He chuckled, but there wasn’t a drop of humor in it. It was the kind of laugh that warned a person to run.
“This right here?” He gestured toward the room. “This facade of a dinner, these theatrics, flying in her past like it’s a party favor… this shit isn’t love or healing; it’s control! You didn’t do this for Naji; you did this to feel powerful… like you won!”
Imanio stepped even closer, eyes never left Giselle’s as he continued.