Truce Of The Matter

Chapter 1

“ I t’s Daija, Daddy,” I mouth to my dad before quietly ambling out of the hospital room. Once in the hall, I walk down to the small vending machine area and give my attention back to my cell. “You need to come home,” I tell my little sister.

“I thought you said that they are releasing her tomorrow. I can’t just come home like that. What about my classes?” she whines, making excuses.

“Our elderly mom just had two seizures, fell and fractured her hip, and is in the hospital. I’m sure your professors would understand if you miss a class or two for that. You can leave this afternoon and be here in five hours. Hell, I’ll just buy you a plane ticket and you can be here even sooner. These two seizures were bad and the doctors are saying that she has to go to a rehab facility for about three weeks before she can go home.”

“Let me go see what I can do. I’ll call you back,” she says with no emotion or urgency.

“One hour, Daija.”

“Damn, Truce. I’ll call you back in one hour,” she snaps before ending the call.

Our relationship is tricky. I love her more than she will ever know but our fourteen-year age gap doesn’t allow her to see that sometimes. To her, I’m just her bossy, overreaching, older sister who settled for a life in Crescent Falls instead of living a dream life. She believes her life is better because she left. Her naiveté prevents her from seeing the beauty and rich culture of our family and in our town. She also doesn’t have a clue that I do a lot so she doesn’t have to. I want her life to be as special as it can be.

Ten years ago, my mother had been diagnosed with epilepsy. Because she was middle aged, forty-six at the time, her actual diagnosis took some time. The signs were subtle at first—jerking, erratic hand movements and unexplained dizziness—and she basically ignored them until she couldn’t anymore. It’s been a long road and major shifts have had to happen, starting with her pulling back from our family business, Redmond’s Soul Food.

These past two years have been the worst and because Daija has been away at college, she only knows what’s going on through secondhand updates from me or my dad. She’s in her junior year at Clark Atlanta University in Georgia, majoring in Political Science and Government, and her visits home are far and few. I normally don’t press her about coming home—she needs to get the full college experience—but this time is different. My mom looks weaker and seems to have visibly aged years in a matter of days and I’m worried. Daija needs to come home because if something happens to Mom and she’s not here, she will have to live with that regret forever. I don’t want that for her because I know firsthand that regret can utterly overwhelm you.

Before heading back into the room, I grab lemon cookies from the vending machine and fix my dad a cup of black coffee with one packet of Equal. It’s late and he’s tired but he’s adamant about not leaving my mom’s side. They have been married for forty-one years and let him tell it, they haven’t slept apart more than twenty-four hours.

“Here, Daddy.” I hand over the cup of coffee but he hesitates to grab it. “I know how you like your coffee, Daddy,” I say and he takes it.

“Thank you, sweetie. What did your sister say?” he asks, hopeful.

“She’s going to talk to her professors and try to get here,” I reply, full of hope too although my gut tells me we are both going to be disappointed.

So, as we sit, I log into my Flight app and search for tickets. There’s a final flight to Crescent Falls at nine forty but it’s already seven. There’s no way she’ll make that so I book the one for eight twenty in the morning and send her the flight info. Seconds later, she thumbs up the text.

Me: I’ll pick you up at 10:30.

Daija: I’ll take an iDrive.

“ She just texted, Dad. She’ll be here tomorrow morning. I booked her.”

“I knew Daija wouldn’t disappoint me. Seeing her is going to be good for your momma.” He places his cup on the small table by the bed then grabs my mom’s hands. “Your baby’s coming home tomorrow, love,” he utters to my mom. She’s heavily sedated because the doctors want to ensure she gets some rest tonight.

The nurse, Raejean, creeps into the room with an apologetic look on her face. When she flashes a wry smile, I know it’s time. “Visiting hours ended at seven. I’m already breaking the rules by letting him stay. Sorry,” she says in a low tone.

“Please, girl, don’t apologize. You’re doing me a huge favor by letting him stay. Thank you. I’m about to leave and make sure your dinner is on its way and I’ll be calling to check in. Can we get some extra warm blankets and a pillow please? I know he isn’t going to be comfortable but I at least want him to be warm.”

“You know I’ll take care of both of them,” she assures.

Raejean and I go way back. I’ve known her since fourth grade and I do know that she will, in fact, take care of my parents. To show my appreciation, I have my team preparing dinner for the nurses on the floor. It should be heading this way soon.

“Thank you,” I tell her then stand. I step over and kiss my mom on her forehead. “Get better and I love you. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I walk around to my dad and he stands. He pulls me in for one of his comforting hugs. “Love you, Daddy. Don’t give Raejean a hard time either and please, get your chicken and dumplings when the food gets here.”

“I don’t have much of an appetite but I’ll try.”

He kisses my cheek then eases back down in the reclining chair. I walk back to the small couch, grab my bag, then walk to Raejean. “Call my cell if anything changes,” I tell her.

“I will. The social worker will be here at nine to discuss the transition to rehab. Once her doctors clear her then she’ll be going to Golden Age.”

“I’ll be here before nine anyway. Thanks again, girl. The food should be here at nine and the chicken and dumplings are for my dad.”

“As long as I have a piece of strawberry cake in the order, we are even.”

“I’ll send a whole sliced cake.”

As I walk out, I text my assistant manager and cousin, Taj, and tell her to add strawberry cake slices to the hospital order. I’m sending over smothered chicken, beef tips, mashed potatoes, string beans, yeast rolls, and two gallons of our lemonade.

Since I parked in the garage, I take the elevator down to Floor G, find my Infiniti, then head to the restaurant. Redmond’s is a staple in the city. We’ve had the same location since 1952. Prior to the building, my great grandma Mae used to cook and sell dinners out of church. Then, my grandparents acquired this space and we’ve been here ever since. We grew and expanded about twenty years ago, purchasing the structure next to us and expanding the dining area, adding additional restrooms, and upgrading the kitchen. We can now seat seventy-nine diners. Prior to the expansion, we were capped at twenty-two.

As one of the founding families, we have a legacy and reputation to uphold. Our bloodline runs deep too. My father has six siblings and my aunts, uncles, and cousins are all here in the city. As a unit, we own a number of businesses in Crescent Falls, but the restaurant is my parents’. We employ some family members but it’s ours. Each business is independently-owned.

When I pull up to the restaurant, I pull around back into my spot in the employee parking lot. There are four spots reserved. Taj is parked in Daija’s. The back door leads to the office space, storage room, employee bathroom, then the kitchen area. I walk into the office area and Taj is standing by the door on the phone. She holds up one finger to signal one sec as I walk in and place my bag in the desk drawer. The moment she’s off the phone, she steps to the desk.

“What are they saying?” she asks.

“They are releasing her tomorrow but she’s got to go to rehab for a few weeks. These seizures weren’t like her others.”

“Man, Truce. I should have called you or the paramedics when she first blanked out in the kitchen. She was just standing there over the juicer staring at the wall for a few minutes. When she snapped out of it, she said that she was fine but I felt like she wasn’t. If I would have called then, then maybe?—”

“Maybe nothing. You couldn’t have known. Besides, she would have talked you out of calling anyway,” I assure her.

My parents no longer run the restaurant; I do. However, they cannot stay away. They open every weekday morning at eight along with the team members. They don’t work on the weekends. Taj and I rotate opening then because we serve breakfast on Saturdays and Sundays. But when they work, my mom comes in to make our secret-recipe lemonade and my dad seasons the meats. They stick around until the doors open at eleven to greet the first customers then go home. She had seizures on Monday as soon as they left the restaurant. My dad was driving and took her straight to the hospital.

“What do you need me to do? Whatever, I got you.”

“Well, if you can, open tomorrow. I want to get to the hospital early to talk to the doctors and social worker. I’ll make the lemonade tonight.”

“Or… you can finally teach me the recipe. I am family,” she says. “I think I’ve figured most of it out anyway.”

“You haven’t,” I assure her. “It’s not just the ingredients, it’s the ratios. Our lemonade has a very distinct taste and the customers love it. You’ve never heard anyone say that the lemonade tastes different today and you never will. That’s our signature.”

“You sound like Aunt Irene,” she says while laughing.

“I know; that’s my momma.”

Mack, the head cook, steps into the doorway. “How’s Miss Irene?”

“They are releasing her in the morning but she’ll be out for a few weeks. We will have shift meetings tomorrow so I can catch everyone up and talk schedules. How’s the order for the hospital?’

“Done. It’s packed up and I’m sending Tia and Myshawn to deliver it.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Mack.”

“Don’t do that,” he scoffs. “We all fam here, and listen, I can come in and open in the morning too. Tell Pops I got it.”

“I will and I can’t help saying it. Thanks.” He dismisses me with his hands then walks off. He’s right though. The staff here is family, even the ones not related to me by blood. I actually love coming to work and not too many people can say that. “Okay. Well, let me go check the line then start on this lemonade,” I say then stand.

“Walk the dining room too. Maybe something or someone can put a smile on your face,” Taj says and I just stare at her.

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday night and about time for your favorite customer to come in,” she teases with a smirk.

“Girl, please. I do not have a favorite customer. They are all my favorites,” I say dismissively. I don’t have time for her shit tonight.

“Lies you tell. We all know that fine ass Rex Goode is your favorite. Hell, he’s my favorite too. Every time that man walks in, the staff goes crazy. Tall, thick but muscular, that beard and those jet-black thick eyebrows and lashes. Please, he’s your favorite.”

“He is too light for me. You know I love dark chocolate,” I say, telling a partial truth.

While I definitely prefer my men dark as midnight, if I was looking for and had time for a man, Rex for sure warrants an exception to my preference. He’s everything Taj said wrapped in a beautiful caramel skin tone. The man is gorgeous. He comes in a few times a week with his adorable little girl but Wednesday nights are almost guaranteed.

“Okay dark chocolate,” she mocks. “ Just make sure you visit all the customers in about thirty minutes.”

“Let me go make my lemonade and I might come out if I have time,” I say before walking out of the office. I’ll definitely make time to at least say hello.