Chapter 1 #2
Ryan didn’t wait. She was already outside by the time I made it to the steps, pacing back and forth like a lioness, ready to maul me.
I sighed deeply. Daddy wasn’t even in the ground yet.
“Ryan—” I tried.
She whirled around, her eyes blazing.
“Don’t,” she snapped, her voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare try to talk to me right now!”
I froze, my heart sinking.
“I can’t believe you got up there and sang Daddy’s praises about how much he loved us. It’s your fault we’re even standing here!” she spat, her words cutting like knives. I knew she meant every word, and she was just getting started.
“You knew he wasn’t feeling well, and you didn’t even check on him!
The doctors said his blood pressure was through the roof when he got there!
You let him eat and drink himself into that casket!
” People began to stop and stare, but she didn’t care as she continued her verbal assault.
“What kind of caretaker are you? You made a big deal about being the one who looked after him, but you were too busy, like you always are—”
“Ryan! Enough,” Ma’s voice cut through the chaos. She stood at the top of the steps, her face pale but resolute. “This isn’t the time.”
“But Mama!” Ryan argued, making Ma cut her off.
“I said, enough.” Her tone was as sharp as her expression. “We are going to have some friends and family over for dinner, and you two are going to behave yourselves.”
I didn’t even do anything.
“Do I make myself clear?” she pressed.
My eyes dropped to the ground. “Yes, ma’am.”
Had it been me who made a scene, my mother would’ve demanded I apologize to everyone within earshot of my outburst. But since it was Ryan, she was allowed grace. Ryan glared at me one last time, her eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own, before storming off down the path.
Jonathan appeared by my side, and his arm tightened around me, but it didn’t help. As the crowd dispersed, I stayed rooted to the spot, staring after her until she disappeared from view.
It’s your fault. The words echoed in my mind, over and over, until they were all I could hear.
?
Four hours after Daddy’s funeral, I stood in his kitchen.
I glanced over at Ryan’s mixing bowl, cringing at the way she dumped sugar into the cornmeal without a second thought.
“After the sugar, you need to add butter,” I reminded her.
Her shoulders tensed. “I know how to make fucking cornbread, Elliot.”
I bit back a sigh. She made the kitchen a disaster zone—flour dusted the counter, vegetable peels littered the sink, and the scent of something slightly over-seasoned thickened the air.
“I know,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I just don’t want you to forget.”
Ryan slammed the spoon against the side of the bowl, sending a puff of cornmeal into the air. “I won’t!”
“Okay.”
“I’m not as useless as you all seem to think.”
I turned away from the stove, catching a hint at some of her emotions—pride, hurt, exhaustion, maybe all three. “No one thinks you’re useless, Ry. I was just reminding you—”
“Whatever, Elliot.” She stirred the batter so aggressively that chunks of it splattered onto the counter. I could have pointed it out, but what would have been the point? Everything has been a fight with her lately.
“Elliot, did you start on the yams?” Ma called from the doorway.
I pressed my fingers against my temples before answering. “Not yet, Ma.”
“Why not?”
I turned toward her, lifting a brow. “Because I’m handling everything else. You’re more than welcome to help.”
Ma huffed a little laugh. “Girl, everyone knows I’m no good in the kitchen.”
I sighed. Of course.
“I’ll start it now.”
Turning back to the mac and cheese, I stirred it just enough to keep it from sticking. Honestly, I was tired. The exhaustion, the grief, the tension between my sister and me—it was all pressing down, making it hard to breathe.
“Where’s Johnathan?” I asked as I pulled myself together.
Ryan barely looked up. “Grocery store.”
“What?” I frowned. “Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, girl. He’s your fiancé. Call him.”
Great. I looked around, scanning the mess of ingredients and utensils. “Okay… Have any of you seen my phone?”
Ryan rolled her eyes. “No, Master Elliot, no one has seen your damn phone.”
Ma chuckled, and I bit my tongue from voicing my frustrations. I guess I wasn’t just Ryan’s punching bag—I was both of theirs now.
I turned my attention back to the mac and cheese, stirring with more focus.
“Ma, can you set the timer?” I asked politely.
Before she could answer, Ryan cut in, her voice clipped. “I got it.”
She shoved the cornbread batter into the oven, slamming the door harder than necessary. My eyes flicked to the untouched stick of butter sitting beside her. I opened my mouth to say something, then thought better of it.
After hours of slaving away in the kitchen, juggling dishes, timers, and the growing tension in my shoulders, Johnathan finally walked in.
I turned to face him. “Where were you?”
He set a grocery bag on the counter. “The store.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“To buy milk.”
I stared at him.
“Johnathan, I don’t need milk. I need help.” I ran a hand through my tangled hair, barely holding back my frustration. “Ryan has been snapping at me all damn day until she finally stormed off. God knows where Ma is. Dinner is in an hour, and I still have to bake the pumpkin pie.”
Johnathan stepped closer, his voice low and smooth. “Shhh. You just need a little break.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t, Johnathan. I need help. Please—can you help me?”
He exhaled like I was missing the point entirely.
“I am helping you.” His hand slid to my lower back, rubbing slow, familiar circles—the same way he did when he wanted to have sex with me.
I stiffened. “I’m busy, Johnathan.”
His fingers pressed a little firmer. “Elliot. I’ll be your husband in a few months. You have to listen when I speak. You understand that, right?”
I turned back to the counter, gripping the bowl a little too tightly as I poured the pie filling into the crust. “Of course, I do. But I’m in the middle of cooking for my father’s remembrance dinner. I’m under a lot of pressure right now, and—”
He cut me off. “So you’re not gonna come upstairs with me?”
I exhaled slowly. “I can’t.”
Johnathan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Tsk. Unbelievable.”
Without another word, he turned and walked off. I already knew what that meant—he’d sulk for the rest of the night, making sure I felt the weight of his disappointment in me for not fulfilling my ‘relationship obligations,’ as he called it.
I stared down at the pie, my stomach knotting.
“Okay,” I muttered, caving in before I could stop myself.
His footsteps paused.
With a shaky breath, I turned to face him. “I can spare five minutes.”
Johnathan turned and walked over to me, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I need ten.”
Before I could argue, he took my wrist, leading me upstairs without waiting for my reply. I spaced out from most of it, opting to stare at the handmade clock on the bathroom wall as he thrusted into me with groans and huffs until he was satisfied.
We ended up needing only three minutes.
“Has everyone gotten a place setting?” I called over the chaos of grown adults shouting over one another. The noise was suffocating, and I could see now why Daddy always preferred his space.
Ryan scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Girl, sit down. Ain’t nobody listening to you.”
Johnathan smirked, swirling the wine in his glass. “Exactly. I told her she’s doing too much.”
Ryan grinned. “Extra Elliot.”
They both laughed at my coined nickname between them, feeding off each other like they always did. I sank into my chair beside Johnathan, my mood souring.
He nudged me. “Don’t make that face, Ellie. We’re only playing.”
I didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”
Ryan groaned.
“Oh my God, you’re so annoying.” She rolled her eyes, pushing her plate of mixed greens away like she’d lost her appetite.
“You act like you’re the only one who’s sad, moping around, pretending to be busy instead of actually celebrating Daddy’s life like he wanted.
Like, damn, girl, he’s my daddy too, but you don’t see me walking around like some heartbroken dog. ”
Her words hit hard, but I kept my expression neutral. Instead of responding, I picked up my wine glass and exhaled deeply. She was grieving in her own way, I reminded myself. This was how she coped.
“I said I’m fine.”
Johnathan studied me. “You’re not acting fine.”
I turned to him, my patience wearing thin. “He’s been dead less than a week. Can I have some room to mourn him how I want? Can you both not tear into me about how I handle my father’s death for five minutes?”
Silence fell over the table.
Then, Ryan smirked. “Exaggerating Elliot.”
Johnathan snickered, and I stood immediately.
“Baby, come on now,” Johnathan said, reaching for my wrist. “She’s only playing.”
I ignored him, pushed away from the table, and headed straight for the kitchen. It was a much-needed escape.
The moment I was alone, I let out a shaky breath.
Then, I pulled open the pantry door. My eyes swept the shelves—canned goods, spices, an old box of cereal—until I spotted it.
The cognac bottle Daddy ‘hid’ from me. Half full and still hidden behind a bag of flour like a dirty little secret.
My fingers hovered over it, and my throat burned with the thought.
I wasn’t much of a drinker, usually just a glass of wine at dinner.
But after the day I’ve had, a sip was much needed.
I reached for the bottle, my fingers curling around the cool glass. My pulse quickened.
Just one sip. Just enough to take the edge off.
I twisted off the cap and raised it to my lips. The first taste burned, settling deep in my chest. I exhaled slowly, letting it spread through me, numbing the sharp edges of my thoughts.
Okay, maybe another sip.
After another quick swig, my shoulders relaxed, and my heartbeat slowed. I see why this was a vice he didn’t let go of. When he was alive, I would throw out his bottles all the time. It would always start an argument: “I’m the parent, Elliot, not you!”
It was all pointless, anyway. He’d just replace them or visit a bar while I was at work. So, like an idiot, I pretended not to see it.
Buried beneath old barbecue cookbooks and unused baking sheets was Daddy’s apron. I pulled it out, pressing the worn fabric to my face.
It still smelled like him. Sandalwood and smoke.
Either from the grill or from his cigars.
Whenever he grilled, I was in charge of the sides.
Over the years, I got pretty good at cooking because of him.
Sunday dinners were just the two of us for years.
Now, for the first time, I was having one without him, in his house that was full of people who hadn’t even checked on him when he was sick.
I tried to handle it with grace. Daddy didn’t like it when I got all worked up.
“Let people be people,” he’d say when I complained. “You’re in charge of Elliot. And that’s it. Make that your focus.”
Daddy, I’m trying. Lord knows I am.
I took another sip.
“What are you doing in here?” Ma’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I quickly wiped my moist eyes and turned to her. “I was just—”
She frowned as she gestured to the apron. “And why are you wrapped up in that sweaty old thing?”
I hesitated. “I—”
“Whatever. Come on,” she said, waving me forward. “Bishop James is about to say grace.”
I hung Daddy’s apron back on its hook, placed the bottle of cognac on the counter, and followed her into the dining room once again.
“I hope you wasn’t drinking that poison. Alcohol is the devil’s vice, Elliot,” she warned.
I shook my head. “I know.”
As I approached the table, I spotted Ryan, now comfortably settled in my chair, whispering something to Johnathan. Their hushed giggles and sideways glances made my stomach turn.
Ryan grinned when she saw me. “Just in time. I kept the seat warm for ya.”
She jumped up and slid into her own chair like nothing had happened.
I looked at Johnathan as I sat down. “What was that about?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “You know your sister’s being silly. Just gossiping.”
Before I could press further, Ma called the room to attention.
“Alright, everyone, time to settle down.” She cleared her throat, her voice taking on the smooth, practiced tone she always used in front of company. “I want to thank you all for joining us today as we celebrate the life of my late husband, Elijah Sawyer, who you may know as Big El.”
She conveniently left out the ex before husband.
Let people be people, Ellie.
“Bishop James would like to lead us in a word of prayer, so please bow your heads.”
I lowered my gaze, tuning out the bishop’s voice as he spoke. I could not wait for this whole thing to be over.
As the meal finally began, the chatter resumed, but I barely paid attention. I focused on my plate, eating more out of obligation than hunger—until a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Now, Ellie, I know damn well you ain’t make that dry-ass cornbread.”
I looked up. Frank. Daddy’s no-filter neighbor, who always sniffed around for a free plate whenever Daddy grilled.
The table rumbled with faint laughter.
I sipped my wine. “No, I didn’t. That cornbread is Ryan’s doing.”
Frank let out a loud cackle. “Ryan, girl, you know you can’t cook! What the hell are you doing in the kitchen?”
Laughter exploded around the table, and Ryan’s face flushed red.
“I did my best!” she snapped, balling up her napkin and throwing it onto her barely touched plate. Then, with a huff, she shoved her chair back and stormed away, cussing under her breath as she went.
I smirked slightly, feeling the effects of the cognac kicking in. “Reckless Ryan.”
Johnathan shot me a disappointed look. “I’ll go check on her.”
“You?” I frowned. “Why are you going?”
He stood, fixing his shirt. “She needs a listening ear. She’s going through a lot.”
I wondered who else was going through a lot.
I scoffed. “She’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”
“Not everyone is as put together as you, Elliot.”
I watched as he walked off after her.
“Put together, huh?” I thought, swirling the wine in my glass before taking a long sip.
If this was me put together, I’d hate to see myself fall apart.