Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
For Rashad, the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving were busy ones.
He’d stumbled upon a menu that was an all-around hit: smoked then fried turkey wings on slices of stuffing, drizzled with a giblet gravy and topped with love, mac ’n’ cheese balls, green bean casserole (inspired by Anna’s recipe), a potato dish, and an oatmeal cranberry cookie.
After serving it at Anna’s workplace, word spread fast. In addition to his work at Side Chic’k, his catering business was booming.
All of the groups he served were complimentary and generous with their tips. But by the time he headed to the airport to spend Thanksgiving with his family, Rashad never wanted to see a turkey wing, cranberry or green bean ever again.
The busy pace was good for him. Helped take his mind off the dagger Jamilah had unknowingly stabbed in his dream of running his own establishment, their businesses side by side.
He told himself that her observations were valid, to not be so sensitive.
Still, her mindset was disappointing. He was good enough to work for her, but not to work with her, peer to peer.
She didn’t believe he could put a plan this big together and execute it.
Fortunately, others did. Anna and Charles, Mr. Turner, and Blair and Leon all encouraged him to go for the goal.
Meanwhile, Nichole got the okay for him to fly home. His sister Zara bought the ticket. As soon as the plane wheels touched concrete, he pulled out his phone and called Tyson.
“Hey, man, how you living?”
“Large and in charge!”
“I’m back on the west side.”
“Word? In LA?”
“Yeah, you coming home for the holidays?”
“Nah, man. I’ve got business to handle.”
“Cool. That’s why I called. Did you get the proposal I sent over?”
“Through Telegram? Yeah, I got it.”
“Did you read it?”
“Yes, and liked what I saw, especially the part about hiring people like us, folk with criminal histories who might not pass a drug test. Men and women on parole.”
“Good people with bad luck,” Rashad said.
“Who’s Thomas Turner?”
“My local PO. I want his help in getting the community involved, reaching the locals trying to get back on the right track. He said he had connections to local jails and juvenile detention centers who’d love a way to enhance rehabilitation.”
“Man, you’ve put in a lot of work since we talked.”
“Having your freedom snatched and life put on hold for years is a hell of a motivator.”
“No doubt.”
“I was hoping we’d be able to meet while I’m here. In the meantime, I want to run something past you.”
“Go for it.”
“How would you like to come on as a silent partner or make an investment? All of these great ideas are nothing without a stack of dead presidents.”
Rashad didn’t like the silence that followed. But he waited it out.
“Ra God, I’ll do anything and everything to help you.
But times are tough right now. The economy is tanking.
Y’all’s president is acting a fool. People are scared for the future and holding onto their money.
The real estate market in Vegas is on a steady decline, and my company’s been hit.
Trying to stop the bleeding is why I can’t come home or make any investments right now. ”
Rashad tried and failed to not feel deflated. Tyson was his surest bet to the kind of capital for this type of start-up. He shook off the hit and started thinking about food trucks.
“Look, don’t give up on your spot, man. Give me some time, till after the holidays. Let me see what I can do.”
“Appreciate it, Tyson.”
“No problem. Give your family my best.”
That night, on his way out to see the fellas, his phone pinged.
Hope you have a happy thanksgiving
He started to type a reply, then tapped the number instead.
“Hello.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Boss Lady.”
“Thank you, Rashad.”
Her subdued response caught him off guard. Normally there’d be push back for the nickname he gave her.
“Are you in Cali?”
“Yep.”
“Excited about being home?”
“There’s no place like it. These few months away seem a lot longer. I can’t wait to see everybody, eat too much, talk a lot of shit, you know how we do it.”
He laughed. She didn’t.
“Sounds like fun.”
“You okay, Jamilah? You sound a little… I don’t know…quiet.”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you having dinner with your pops?”
“Yes, he sent me a text with dinner reservations. We’re talking again, but there’s still an elephant in the room.”
“Whew, glad to hear it’s an elephant. If it were about me, there’d be a roaring lion.”
“Then, it’s definitely a lion, one with an inaudible roar that fills all our silent spaces.”
“I’m sorry, Jamilah.”
“Not your fault.”
“Maybe I can talk to him.”
“Not recommended.”
Jamilah’s mood caused Rashad to drop his shield and speak from the heart. “I’ll miss spending the holiday with you.”
“Me, too.”
“Tell your pops I said Happy Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll do that. Bye, Rashad.”
Thanksgiving arrived, bright, sunny and eighty degrees. Thank you, California. Rashad sat around a table laden with mouthwatering dishes cooked by someone else’s hand. All the women, led by Granny Isabel and his mother Katrina, forbade him from helping.
“You do this for a living,” they’d scolded, Granny the loudest. “Let somebody cook for you.”
Didn’t have to tell Rashad twice. He hung out with the men—uncles, cousins, a couple neighborhood buddies, his granny’s gentlemen friend—and basked in the good vibes that flowed from the front porch to the back fence.
As happy as they were to see him, it didn’t come close to how good it felt to be back home.
Last night he’d hung out with his boys. Later, him and Juke would go to his mother’s side of the family for their traditional dessert-bar finale.
“You look happy, son,” his mom said, once the plates had been filled and Zara had finished a long-winded prayer that Rashad thought might last until Christmas.
“The Midwest must be agreeing with you.”
Rashad smiled. “It’s going all right.”
Granny looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Money’s good but doesn’t bring out that kind of smile. A woman’s causing that.”
“Back out my business, Granny.”
“Baby, when you get to be my age, all business is my business.”
Laughter erupted, wrapped itself around him and squeezed tight. He leaned back and soaked it all in. There was no place like home.
On the ride over to Long Beach for dessert, Rashad caught Juke up on his business plans.
“That sounds cool as fuck, man. For real. Wish there was someplace like that around here.”
“From what I’ve seen, there aren’t many places for the twenty- and thirtysomethings. Except for the club, and who’s going to those? Nobody in my set.”
“Mine either,” Juke said.
“Everybody’s at home by themselves, interacting online.
Putting their talent on TikTok or the ’Gram.
Nothing against that. I plan to park mine there, too.
But I went to a spoken-word night a week or so back.
It felt good to be around other people, other artists, vibing off each other.
To get the feedback and hear the applause. ”
“Did you rap?”
“Nah, I wasn’t ready for that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Juke, I’m rusty!”
“What the hell? Ra, you’d better get back on your game. Stay ready so you don’t have to get ready. Feel me?”
“I feel you, cousin. Ain’t a word you spoke a lie.”
Long Beach was hella crazy, as expected. Rashad left his aunt’s house with a stomach full of too much peach cobbler and sweet potato pie and a doggie bag for breakfast.
“You good, Rashad? I’m a little spent, but we can go somewhere else if you want to. I know you’ll only be here for a few days.”
“No, we can head to the crib. Before I crash, I want to jot down a couple things.”
“Lyrics?”
“Yeah, I—”
His vibrating phone interrupted. A text had come in. He tapped the screen and opened the message.
“Ah, hell.”
“What’s up? Your girl trippin’?”
“Not my girl. A girl, though. I blocked this chick awhile back. She’s made a new profile and is trying to ride my dick again.”
“Ugh, dude. Leave out the visuals!”
“I didn’t mean it like…”
They both dissolved into laughter.
“I needed that laugh, Juke. ’Cause for real, this ain’t funny.”
“Sounds like some stalker shit, like you went through with Yasmine.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Got some info on old girl.”
“Do I want to hear it?”
“She’s pregnant.”
“Well, congratu-damn-lations.”
The response was said lightly to cover the hurt. Hearing how his ex and former friend had fully moved on sent the dinner and dessert Rashad had enjoyed roiling around in his gut.
“That news upset my stomach.”
“We’ll stop by Granny’s house. She eats antacids for candy.”
Once back at Juke’s house, where he was staying, Rashad went to the guest room, got comfortable, and pulled out his book.
He intended to forget about the news he heard by focusing on his business, to write down potential names for his bar, and run them past Juke tomorrow.
But when he opened his notebook, the page he landed on was an unfinished rhyme inspired by a very special side chick.
Started at a party this part that would rock my world
Where an urban man did a scan on a suburban girl
Played no fool. LA cool. Not my type anyway
Let’s ride with the lie locked up inside
Mental games that players play
Then…
Flipping to his back, he looked at the ceiling and watched a video of the past few weeks play in his head.
Jamilah, in Anna’s basement, wearing silk and a smile.
Them side by side in the Side Chic’k kitchen, grooving to Kendrick or Valntna or India.
In the living room of Jamilah’s condo, too hot and ready to make it down the hall.
He flipped to the page where he’d written the second verse.
In the kitchen whipped up getting gripped up for last call
Shorty walked into the room with a badaboom that made giants fall
Tried to play it off like a hungry man turning down a meal
Couldn’t fake the funk gotta get a chunk of that whip appeal…
“No one does it like me…”
He went to sleep thinking about Jamilah, dreaming about her whip appeal.