Chapter 37 Farrah
Aside from me, my very prim and proper parents loved two things more than anything else on earth: traveling (whenever they’d finally take off) and acting like they didn’t worry themselves sick over me when they were gone.
Knowing that last thing was part of the reason I was staying with Mekhi Venzant right now.
Could my family have looked out for me? Most definitely.
Would my parents have been total nervous wrecks if they knew I needed looking out for? Hell, yeah.
So, naturally, after spending two weeks living with Mekhi Venzant—a man who made my heart, blood pressure, and common-sense malfunction on a daily basis—I found myself across from my parents at Emancipation’s newest Mexican restaurant, La Azteca, pretending not to sweat through my mascara as I prepared to politely lie to their faces.
My mother waved at the waiter. “Do you have sweet tea? Not the instant kind, love.”
We’d been at the table for three minutes, and here her bougie self went.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “The real kind.”
“Well, thank goodness. I was afraid Louisiana had lost its standards. People act like this isn’t the Deep South,” she said as he walked away.
I breathed out very slowly. “So… how was Bali?”
My father perked up immediately, straightening in his seat. “Transformative. Absolutely transformative.,” he enthused. “Your mother insisted on going to a yoga retreat.”
“I did not insist. I strongly suggested,” she said, all proper.
“And then dragged me to a sound bath,” he added.
She turned to me with a small eye roll. “Your father has no spiritual center, girl. It was a cultural experience. He fell asleep,” she added flatly.
“I was meditating,” he argued.
“You snored.”
They bickered back and forth while I nodded along, stirring my queso as I tried to get my story together.
Normally, I would’ve found all of this adorable.
Tonight, all I could think of was how to explain that I wasn’t coming home because a dangerous man with a vendetta kept popping up like a Black-ass jack-in-the-box?
And the answer was simple: I absolutely could not tell them that. They’d wrap me up in cotton and Kevlar and try to buy me a ticket to Mars. My mother took a sip of her sweet tea and looked at me over the rim.
“So, sweetheart, how was your stay at home without us? You study so much. Please tell me you had a little kickback or something.”
“Or something,” I mumbled weakly.
Of course, she caught it. The hearing that God gave mamas should really be studied. My mother frowned at me.
“What does that mean, Farrah?”
“Umm…” I cleared my throat. “Actually… umm… I didn’t exactly stay at home.”
Both of them froze. It wasn’t that they didn’t respect my adulthood.
We definitely had some clear boundaries about my life being mine.
It made sense for me to stay with them while I was in grad school and unable to work full time, and they accepted it as just that, mostly. They worried about me, though.
My father set down his chips. “Then, where did you stay?”
I inhaled. Lie gently, I told myself, and with confidence.
“With… a friend.”
My mother’s eyes narrowed. “Which friend?”
I took a long sip of water like it was a shield. “A guy friend.”
My father blinked twice. “A man?”
“Yes.”
My mother’s brows crept up. “And why didn’t you tell us this before we left?”
“Because I knew you would react exactly like this,” I said, lifting my chin, all dignified and haughty.
“We’re not reacting,” my father said, totally reacting. “We’re simply asking clarifying questions.”
I cleared my throat again. “So, I might be staying with him for a little longer.”
Silence descended on the table, the kind that was loud as hell. My mother stared. My father stared harder.
Finally, Mama asked, very slowly, “What’s his name?”
“Mekhi. Mekhi Venzant.”
“And are you dating this man?”
My mouth opened. No sound came out. How do you answer that when the two people in question argued more than they breathed and swore they hated each other?
So, of course, I said, “Yes.”
My mother’s hand flew to her chest like she’d been shot. My father blinked at me like I’d just announced I was dropping out of school to strip full time. Then, he squinted at me. “Since when?”
“Recently,” I said. “Very recently. You know how these things happen. One minute you’re single as a dollar bill and the next you’re… yeah, recently.”
My mother leaned forward and grabbed my hand. “Sweetheart, you know you can tell us anything, right?”
I nodded reluctantly. Damn, she was on to me!
“So, Farrah… are you pregnant?”
I choked on air. My daddy whacked me on the back. My mama glared at him. “Honey! The baby!”
“What? No! Mama, there is no baby!” I protested.
I mean, not that I knew of. But we’d been careful… after that first night… mostly.
“You’re not in any other kind of trouble, are you?” my father asked.
I shook my head emphatically. “No! Absolutely not.”
“Is this man coercing you?” my mother pressed.
“Mama, you gotta lay off those mafia romances. No! He’s—”
I stopped, because suddenly, literally as if summoned by God’s sense of humor, a tall shadow appeared beside our table. A very familiar tall shadow.
I looked up and nearly died on the spot.
Mekhi was standing there in a perfectly tailored dark suit, buttoned at the waist. No chains.
No scowl. No edge. His beard was lined clean, locs neat, expression calm and professional.
He looked like a Forbes cover come to life.
I had to study that for a minute, because honey, he was fine!
“Evening, Mr. and Mrs. Gray,” he said smoothly, a polite, deep voice with not a single ounce of hood in it. “Hope I’m not interrupting your dinner.”
My brain short-circuited. Who was this man and what had he done with my nemesis?
“Mekhi?” I whispered, eyes wide.
“Small world,” he said, smiling as he rested a warm hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”
I looked at him and bit my tongue because he knew! He absolutely knew. He had a human GPS named Steel who had a bad habit of snitching on me.
My parents just stared.
“And you are…?” my father finally asked.
“Mekhi Venzant,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
My father took it reluctantly, but Mekhi’s handshake looked firm and respectful. My mother glanced at me. Venzant? she mouthed.
I nodded quickly. Mekhi looked between them and then — God help me — pulled out the empty chair beside me.
“May I?”
Absolutely not! I opened my mouth to say it, but my mama beat me to it.
“Sure!” she beamed.
Ol’ friendly ass. Mekhi sat.
Mama smiled over at him. “So, Mr. Venzant, my daughter tells us you two are dating.”
I dropped my face into my hands.
“I guess the cat is out of the bag!” Mekhi said diplomatically. “I’m glad. Your daughter is a remarkable woman.”
My father’s eyes narrowed. “In what way?”
I scowled at him. What kind of question was that? I was remarkable in plenty of ways! Mekhi turned to me, and the look he gave me made my chest tighten.
“In every way that matters,” he said simply.
Oh, my God. Even though I knew we were acting, I died a little bit. Just put me in the dirt.
He continued, “She’s so smart. Disciplined about her education. Very funny. Stronger than she realizes. And one of the most caring people I’ve met.”
He looked and sounded so sincere. My mother made a soft sound of approval. My father’s mouth dropped open. And every bone in my body liquefied.
“And before you worry,” Mekhi added, “I take her safety, her comfort, and her priorities very seriously. She’s focused on school, and I support her fully.”
Okay, he was venturing toward overkill, now. Nigga sounded like he’d memorized a brochure titled “How to Impress Strict Parents 101.”
My mother’s posture softened. “And what is it you do, Mr. Venzant?”
This man, who was probably planning to murder our stalker, smiled politely, looking like an advertisement for sexy, Black professionalism.
“I’m in finance,” he said. “But I dabble in real estate, logistics, private equity. I started young, so I’ve been fortunate.”
“Fortunate?” my father repeated. “You’re—” He pulled out his phone, typed quickly, and his eyes widened. “You’re… this Mekhi Venzant?”
I fought not to roll my eyes. Daddy was over here sounding like Hyacinth. Whatever he’d pulled up impressed him.
Mekhi chuckled lightly. “Yes, sir.”
My father sat back, stunned into temporary silence. He showed Mama the phone. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Well, that certainly explains the nice suit.”
Mekhi smiled toward me. “I came from a meeting. Otherwise, I’d be in something more relaxed.”
My mother nodded approvingly. My father nodded a half-second later, still wondering how to feel.
“So, Farrah will be staying with you for a little while longer,” my father said carefully.
I swallowed. This was it. Mekhi reached for my hand under the table, squeezing gently, reassuring me. It was like a silent I got this.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “She’s welcome as long as she wants to stay. We really want the opportunity to get to know each other better. My home is safe. Quiet. And I give her her space.”
My mother’s brows lifted. “You give her space?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mekhi said. “I respect her independence. Her ambitions. I want her to feel supported, not supervised.”
My parents turned to look at me slowly, their expressions confused but hopeful.
“I’m very fond of her,” Mekhi added quietly.
Fond? Come on, now, nigga! Spreading it a little too thick. But when I looked at him, I couldn’t see the lie. His eyes…
My heart seemed to be warming up for NASCAR, fast as it was beating. I swallowed, looked away before I forgot this wasn’t real.
My mother pressed her lips together like she didn’t want to approve of him but had no choice.
“Well,” she finally said, “that is reassuring.”
My father cleared his throat. “Very reassuring.”
Then the waiter returned to refill our drinks.
“Another glass?” he asked my mother.
She glanced at Mekhi. “Yes, but only if my daughter’s boyfriend is having something as well.”
The man smiled. “Yes ma’am. What can I get you, sir?”
Mekhi didn’t miss a beat. “Sweet tea, please. The real kind.”
My mother smiled.
Dinner went well. Mekhi absolutely charmed my parents—and me, too, just a little.
As we walked out to the parking lot and my parents said long, way too enthusiastic goodbyes, he leaned down and murmured, “You okay?”
“I’m alive,” I whispered. “Barely.”
He smirked. “Way you had me in there on that preppy shit, you better be more than alive. I’m slutting you out tonight, Little Thug. Fucking you ‘til you hoarse from screaming. Gotta earn my street cred back.”
I turned my nose up at him.
But my pussy jumped like Kris Kross was down there visiting.
“You were different in there,” I said as he walked me to my car.
“Yeah?” he asked, teasing. “Which version you like better?”
“I like both,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
I felt my cheeks warm. He opened my door, buckled me in, dropped a kiss on my lips.
“Good. ‘Cause I like you, too, Little Thug. Now drive yo’ ass straight to the house and strip.”
I did exactly what he said.