Chapter 20
washington
. . .
Iwalked through the cement structure, watching Madison. Man, she’d gotten that fire back. She looked right where she needed to be, seated at her bench.
As she worked the glass, which looked more like a melted beer bottle of hot lava, into a shape, I watched in awe.
I’d arrived at Glass & Sass, eager to speak with Omari and gauge his intentions.
He didn’t own this place, which told me dude didn’t have roots.
There was no sign of him as I stepped forward with a bag of clothing I’d purchased for Madison.
It also included the keys to her rattrap that I’d dropped off at her home.
“Good job. Very artsy. And vase-y.” I replied, glancing at the piece.
“Thanks.” She smirked, turning around.
I helped her out of the heat-resistant apron. I knew that because I needed to be sure my bébé was safe when she started this dangerous art.
She removed the face shield and then kissed me. I wrapped her in my arms. “Good morning again, mon chère.”
“Again?” A familiar male voice interrupted from behind Madison.
This was the second time today someone had caught me off guard. But I’d be damned if it ended like it did at Audubon Park.
Omari stepped toward my wife, arms open for a hug.
“Good morning,” Madison said.
I moved around her, hand out.
The man tilted his head. “Ah, you shake hands now, huh?”
Bruh. Please. I tightened my hand around his, my other hand going firm to his shoulder. A pat. A threat. “How you be?”
Madison stared at me with that you-know-good-and-well smirk.
Since we all knew I didn’t give a damn, Omari finished the platitude, then shook her hand. Damn, I wanted him to cross the line. “Came by to check on Madison,” I said.
Translation: You do nothing but breathe the same air as her. Fine by me.
“The last one’s finished,” Madison mumbled.
“Last one of what?” I raised a brow. “Last I checked, all your creations were like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates. All different.”
“Well, I’ve created a set, Wash.” She huffed. “Now, c’mon. The beginner class is in the other studio. I’m not feeling the teacher’s style, but she’s never late.”
Avoiding confrontation noted. We moved through the cement hall, hand in hand. The place was heavy on man buns, two dudes. The rest were toddlers who’d stolen goggles from NASA, official business. Along with ambitious mémères.
Eyes narrowed, I searched for a sign to verify the room’s occupancy. If they were at capacity, we would be the first to bounce.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Madison asked.
“Long as Glass & Sass doesn’t burn down, bébé.”
After dressing for Dungeons and Dragons, the teacher handed out molten blobs.
When he got to me, I glanced around. I almost said, No, sir, not me, until Madison said, “Thank you, ma’am.
” Okay, he was a she. And the woman played with fire.
My eyes swept the room. Damn, everyone was holding their own. Beginner class, my ass!
“Watch me first,” Madison said.
Observe and try not to spontaneously combust. Got it.
Madison twirled her rod, shaping the glass. Then she leaned over. “Twist gently. Follow me.”
“Follow you?” Bébé, I’ll follow you into the Ritz-Carlton on Canal Street or The Roach Coach Inn on Claiborne Ave. But right now, I was ready to lift two fingers in the air and leave her with the man buns. I was pretty sure they weren’t checking for any beautiful ladies, no way.
“I’m done, bébé.” I was over here spraining my eyeballs. In my peripheral, I watched her manipulate fire using only a stick and her bare hands. Did she know how hard that was, watching her rework hell itself, while half my body had stretched itself out of the room.
My soul damn near faded when she leaned closer to me and whispered, “Wash, you barely touched it. You are one misstep from totally undoing a wealth of training I’ve done.”
Training? We should’ve started with If the glob of fire comes near you, tuck, duck, and roll away because I was ready to do all of that.
But she stared at me, head tilted, having the nerve to look cute and curious.
Again, my heart sped up, and my eyeballs stretched, glancing at that fire in her hands from the corner of my eye.
“I don’t know what training you’re talking about, woman.
If you haven’t forgotten, anytime you offered to take a beginner’s class with me, I flaked on your ass.
So, this is a brand new me.” Woman, I’m fighting for my life!
And she had the nerve to smile. “I mean training as in my pursuit of you. And once I had you, shaping you.”
“Chère, I’m the one who flirted and tried to get you to talk to me.”
“You call it flirting, I call it training day. That cute face and muscular body worked on all the other girls on campus. They knew you were a hit it and quit it. Guess why I waited until I was eighteen to let you have the cookie?”
“Because …” I stopped and tilted my head. She played me.
“Yep. Make him wait, make him fall.” Madison chuckled under her breath. “Anyway, during all that waiting, I was training you, Washington. Had to eradicate your judgmental facade. You know the idiom, watching paint dry?”
I rolled my eyes. “Woman, gimme a break.”
“No, you weren’t that. You weren’t boring. Just tedious. You were the paint if someone painted all the walls, the ceiling, floors. Everything. Everywhere. You were dry. You had those judgmental eyes watching me. You even interrogated all my best friends.
“Interrogated. Oh, you’re funny now.”
“Yeah, and honest. You learned my favorite flowers. Color. The superficial crap, all because I didn’t give you any.
But I thought it was sweet. Plus, I heard how you got down at Stanford.
You and that,” she whispered, “third leg. You needed to distinguish me from all your others because I was born a princess. So, I trained you to socialize and be fun outside of the bed.” She winked.
“Tell me more?” We had another forty minutes in this class, and she could use that mouth the entire time.
Days later, Momma had our Wednesday dinner at her Creole cottage right outside of Covington. I parked in front of her house. It wasn’t a bad size or anything, but Montana’s mansion dwarfed it, higher up the slope. As I closed the door to my car, I checked a text message from Madison.
“Not coming,” I grumbled, leaning against the door and breathing in the Bogue Falaya River. I dialed her number. She killed the call and texted again.
WIFEY: So you got my text. Don’t debate me.
ME: WHY?
WIFEY: When ex-wives appear, people get testy asking about when this creature of the night is gonna leave? I’ll pass.
ME: You’re Zuri’s bridesmaid. How you gonna handle wedding stuff if you can’t attend a cookout with fewer people?
WIFEY: I’ll suck it up then. It’s a pass today, though. If your cousin is there, she’ll say something outta pocket. And I’m not afraid of Genèse anymore. Heartbreak has its perks
ME: Come … for me, bébé.
I turned around and placed my forearms on the hood of the Land Rover. Waited two minutes. Yep, I’d counted in my head. She wasn’t gonna respond. I sent one more message to the effect of, I always want you beside me, but I respect your decision.
Please. All I sent her ass was a thumbs-up because heartbreak did have its perks. And she didn’t like that emoji.
As I moved toward the door, I spied Montana walking hand in hand with Zuri, and the son he’d soon adopt at his other side.
Darius had recently turned five, so close in age to Elijah.
I didn’t know which made my heart tighten more: it hurting to watch him because of that or because they’d passed the spot where Madison went buck wild on my Bentley.
I tried to blame it on the car since the little dude was a good kid.
I needed to be comfortable around children again. I wanted children again.
Zuri looped her Sisterlock behind her ear and gave me a hug. “Aw, man, you’re solo? I spoke with Madison earlier.”
“How’d that work out for you?” I asked, nodding at my little brother. His expression signaled that we needed to get down to business.
“Maddy agreed to meet me later this week to discuss bridesmaids’ dresses … just not here. She joked about not being a cliché. Returning to the scene of a crime.” Zuri shook her head.
Montana chuckled, all teeth and ego. “Maddy still says it like it is, huh? I see why you’re tryna marry her again. Don’t steal our wedding date though, bruh.”
“I’m taking that woman down to the courthouse,” I said. “Our wedding was free in San Jose. California beach vibes. Bluetooth speaker. And a classmate-preacher who wore sandals that go between the toes.”
“Flip flops?” Zuri lifted a brow.
“That,” Montana barked a laugh. “Real men. We don’t do stuff like that. Momma’s still mad you ain’t let her preacher say the vows.” He kissed Zuri on the cheek and glanced down at Darius. “Go on in, chère. Grown-folk talk. Darius, we’ll ride Croc later.”
“Oh, yeah!” Darius perked up.
I frowned. “Ya’ll riding what?”
Montana smirked. “His horse. Zuri lost her damn mind the first time I mentioned it.” Montana watched them walk up the porch, then his tone dropped. “Bruh, we’ve got a problem.”
“I felt something was off with Momma hosting her Wednesday night dinners here instead of the Hot Chicken & Peach Pit Maison. Not like her to switch up. No word from Texas after all these months?”
My brother roughed a hand over his face as Tennessee’s truck rumbled up the drive. Ash from firefighting clung to his cornrows as he got out, eyes tired, boots heavier than his mood.
Montana said, “Man, I hired two PIs. One here. One in LA. Both swear they’re top dog. Both charge like they know it. Ain’t neither found Texas.”
“Uh …” Tennessee sat on the bottom step of the porch, elbows on knees. “Y’all’s pops … said he saw my twin.”
The air thickened. I always forgot that me and Montana shared that deadbeat. The twins had the daddy I still aspired to be. Marcel Babineaux was the dad who raised us. And he died too soon, all after he gave me and Montana his last name. A solid last name.
Montana leaned a shoulder against the Doric column. “Is he asking for money to give us something?”
“Ezekiel … may not do that,” I muttered. Then again, confidence wasn’t my ministry when he was involved. The family tree had sent out his eviction notice when I was five.
Tennessee shook his head. “Nah. Zek said Texas looked in a bad way.”
Montana’s shoulders went rigid. That swagger drained like bourbon. “Bad way? Like what?”
“Like he had enemies. Ezekiel said Texas disappeared out the back of the Dollar Store where he works. Some dudes had just walked in.” Tennessee’s jaw flexed. “Looked sketchy.”
“What looked sketchy?” Momma’s voice sliced clean through the air.
We all glanced around.
She stood at the doorway, apron dusted with flour. I got it now. She’d cooked at home today. She’d probably spent the whole day reaching out to Tex too. Left him voicemails saying that Wednesday dinner would be at home. Probably wanted him to feel comfortable when he returned. But …
“Momma …” I started, voice low.
Her eyes darted from our faces, catching the silence like a scent. When neither of us spoke, she choked the words out in Kouri Vini. “What happened to my baby? My little Texas?”