BRUNCH
Twyla floated home that afternoon on a giddy cloud of joy, and not only because she'd received an orgasm induced by someone other than her three favorite toys for the first time in eighteen months.
It had been so long since she'd made a genuine connection with someone and that almost excited her more than the prospect of sex.
Since her grandmother's passing, the already delicate relationship she had with most of her extended family had seemed to fracture. Her mother was only seventeen and still in high school when Twyla was born so her grandmother practically raised her. Oftentimes it felt like her mother was more like her sister than her mother and just let Twyla’s grandmother take over.
Her grandfather passed when she was toddler so she didn’t remember anything about him, but her grandmother always used to tell her that Twyla had been on his hip until he passed away.
Twyla and her mother lived with her grandmother throughout her entire childhood, with Twyla only moving out to go to college and grad school.
Once she graduated, she was right back in that house with the two of them.
When her grandmother passed, it was like losing a parent.
Twyla had felt so disconnected from everything and everyone that at times it felt like she was merely coasting through life rather than living it.
Being excited about something again made her hopeful.
And even if things fizzled out between her and this man she'd been crushing on for months, it would be okay.
Feeling energized, she found an upbeat playlist on her music app and blasted it from her phone as she started dinner. She danced to the music as she cooked, imagining Arturo's solid body behind hers, holding her close to him as she rocked to the beat.
"Cooking and dancing? What got you in such high spirits?"
Twyla nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of her mother's voice behind her.
Turning, she found the older woman standing just inside the opening of the galley kitchen of their shared townhome.
Linda Jacobs was leaning one hip against the counter with her fist propped on the other, a small smile on her face as she watched her oldest daughter.
"Hey, mama!" Letting out a breathless laugh, Twyla went to her barely graying twin and kissed her on the cheek.
"Hey, baby. Whatcha cookin'?"
"Smothered porkchops, rice, and corn."
Linda strolled further into the kitchen and peeked over Twyla's shoulder as she flipped the chops to sear the second side.
"Smells good."
Twyla smiled. "Thanks, mama." She turned to grab the flour from the pantry, feeling her mother's eyes on her back. When she returned to the stove, she laughed at the waiting expression on the older woman's face.
"Why you looking at me like that, lady?"
"How am I looking at you Twyla Reneé?"
Throwing her head back, Twyla cackled. "My middle name?
! Mama, please." As she laughed, she set the flour on the counter and picked up the pair of tongs sitting on the spoon rest. After using them to remove the porkchops from the skillet, she threw in the couple tablespoons of butter she'd already had waiting and turned to her mother, a hand on her hip.
"Well?"
Linda Jacobs quirked an eyebrow. "Last time I checked there wasn't anything wrong with your hearing, so I know you heard the question I asked you when I came in this kitchen."
As her mother's only child, Twyla knew this lady like the back of her hand and was well aware of how she hated to repeat herself.
Twyla also knew just how far she could push her buttons before cuss words and threats of violence started getting thrown around.
Linda's fuse had always been a short one, and more than thirty years later Twyla still found it hilarious.
One could say it was only funny because her mother had never actually laid hands on her, but Twyla would argue that it was hilarious regardless.
Raising her hands in surrender, Twyla giggled. "Okay, okay, mama. Dang."
Sensing that the butter in the pan was fully melted, Twyla turned back to the stove and sprinkled some flour over the melted butter. As she stirred the makings of her roux, she considered how much she wanted to share with her mother.
"Do you remember that fine man from work?"
She glanced at her mother whose eyes were on the ceiling as if a Rolodex of her memories were up there and she was sorting through them.
A brief flare of annoyance rose inside of Twyla because she was sure the other woman knew the exact mention that she was referencing.
There had only been one so this display was unnecessary.
Twyla had been gushing about Arturo to Vanessa over the phone and Linda had caught the tail-end of the conversation.
It would’ve been fine but Linda had apparently secretly listened in and only announced her presence once Twyla ended the call.
Finally, Linda turned her gaze back on Twyla, her head cocked to the side.
"The one with the accent?"
Pursing her lips, she nodded. That was one of the tidbits that Linda must’ve heard Twyla exclaim to Vanessa. "Yeah, him."
"What about him?"
Unable to help herself, Twyla grinned at the thought of Arturo. "Well…we might have a date planned."
Linda wrapped an arm around Twyla's waist and patted her hip. "Aww, that's great! I’m sure it can be hard to pine for someone who isn’t interested so I’m glad he decided to give you a chance."
Twyla gritted her teeth to keep from saying something disrespectful and forced out a brusque, "Thanks.”
She knew this was nothing more than her mother trying to get under her skin for ignoring her question so she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of getting visibly upset. More than that, Twyla had no desire to correct her false assumption.
"Mmhm,” Linda continued. “What's it been, like four years since you've been on a date?"
Twyla sucked her teeth and side-eyed her mother. "See, now why you tryna play me, lady?"
Laughing, Linda released Twyla and walked further into the kitchen.
Twyla heard the distinct sound of the fridge and then cabinets opening.
Once she heard the unmistakable pop of a cork being wrenched from a wine bottle, she looked over her shoulder to see her mother pouring up.
Chuckling to herself, she turned back to the stove.
Just as she covered the skillet of now-submerged porkchops with a lid, her mother held a flute that was filled to the rim with a bright red liquid and garnished with a strawberry on the lip. Eagerly, Twyla grabbed the glass.
Linda raised her own glass, ready to clink it against Twyla's. "Let's toast to your first date in six years!"
With an affronted gasp, Twyla quickly pulled her glass back, splashing a little of the drink over the sides. "Seriously, mama?"
Giggling, Linda waved her free hand in the air. "I'm just playing baby. C'mon, let’s cheers."
Sucking her teeth a second time, Twyla clinked her glass.
She knew her mother really was just teasing her.
It's what she’d always done, and usually Twyla let it roll off her back, but sometimes she was once again that five-year-old girl who regularly went crying to her grandmother because “mommy is being mean to me.” Nowadays, Twyla bit back when she felt Linda was doing too much and that was usually enough for Linda to keep it playful and light.
purposefully got under her skin and Linda roasted her like a hotdog on MLK Day.
It was how the older woman showed her love and Twyla didn't mind because she could be quick on her feet when the situation called for it.
They just had that kind of relationship where they'd always been friends while also being mother and daughter.
Twyla was grateful that she'd never had to hear Linda exclaim that she wasn't one of Twyla's "little friends" and that was largely due to the proximity in their ages.
Linda had given birth to Twyla when she was seventeen years old and still living at home with Twyla's late grandmother.
That woman had practically raised Twyla as her own, and half the time she felt like her own mother was more like her sister.
They were so close that they'd chosen to be roommates even though Twyla could more than afford her own place.
"So," Linda said casually, breaking Twyla out of her thoughts. "What does Mr. Accent look like?"
Twyla immediately choked on her cranberry mimosa, causing Linda to burst out laughing. She glared at her mother, before grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping the dribble from her chin.
"I'm sorry. I should've waited until you were done taking that sip."
It wouldn't have mattered at all.
Clearing her throat, Twyla shook her head to clear the thought away. She set her flute on the counter and picked up a spoon to check the corn.
"I told you he was fine." Never mind that Twyla hadn’t actually told Linda anything at all.
Taking a heavy swig from her glass, Linda windmilled her hand, "Be more specific. How tall is he? Does he have all his teeth? How much does he weigh? How much does it weigh?"
Twyla cut her eyes at Linda at that last question before pursing her lips and staring at the food on the stove. She wasn't going to answer any of those questions, and definitely not that last one. Linda would find out what Arturo looked like at their wedding along with everyone else.
Realizing that Twyla wasn't going to answer the question, Linda scoffed and slammed her empty glass on the counter.
"Girl, don't nobody want your lil nerd! I was just asking about him because you haven't said much about him at all. Forgive me for being curious about your life." She slapped her hands on her hips. "Are you bringing Mr. Accent to the cabin?"