Chapter 19 Coco
Coco
“I was not expecting this,” Stone says when we arrive at my parents’ house.
“I told you,” I reply, adjusting the huge tub of potato salad on my lap.
Stone watches my family through the windshield. “Are they military?”
“Worse. They’re preppers.”
“Oh, that explains all the camo.”
“Does it?”
“No, not at all.”
I laugh. “That’s what I thought. Come on. Let me introduce you, then the men can drag you away and test your manhood by making you shoot targets.”
His entire face brightens. “They’ll let me shoot a gun?”
“If you don’t shoot, they’ll think less of you. It’s a rite of passage at these things.”
Stone watches the scene. There are a lot of people roaming around: kids, men, women—my cousins, aunts, and uncles.
“Sometimes I get feelings about people. Like right now, I feel like Natalie would love this,” he murmurs.
“Natalie?”
“My sister.” He frowns, thinking. Then his eyes pop wide with excitement. “She’s an excellent poker player and has whipped my ass so many times it’s embarrassing. So let’s keep that between us. She also loves my brother, Pane, more than me, but that’s okay. It’s not a competition.”
He smiles victoriously, and a quiver of happiness vibrates inside me even though it’s laced with sadness.
I wish I had that kind of easy affection with my own sister. But there is, without a doubt, a competition between us, and Brittany’s star has always shone brighter than mine. So bright that our relationship feels like a test I didn’t study for.
Stone leans back and exhales with satisfaction. “Like I said, sometimes I get feelings about people.” He eyes me. “About relationships.”
He’s not talking about me. He’s not talking about me.
But my heart does a stupid skip thing, as if it hasn’t read the room.
I squeeze his arm and an electric shock jolts me. This would be the perfect time to pull away, but I don’t. Not when his skin is warm, solid, tethering me to this strange little bubble of a moment.
I drop my hand and he rubs the back of his head. “I feel underdressed.”
He’s wearing jeans, a casual button-down, and dark boots.
“You look great. It’s not camo, but it’ll do,” I joke. “Want to meet my family?”
“Absolutely.”
“Dad, this is Stone Maddox. Stone, this is my dad, Harold.”
Dad steps away from a spot of earth that’s smoking hot. Yes, actual smoke wafts up from underground. Several of my uncles and cousins stand around it, drinking bottles of water, discussing the underground firepit.
Stone extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
My dad takes the hand and surprise flits across his face. He appraises Stone and gives a classic dad nod. “Maddox, huh? Aren’t you the one building that resort?”
“Yes, sir. That’s me.”
“Hotels are your business, huh?”
“Sure are.”
My younger cousins run past us, screaming. One of the boys chases his sister while holding out a salamander.
“It’s going to touch you!” he yells as she shrieks with fright.
Mom comes up, holding out her hands. “Coco, you brought the potato salad. Thank you!” Her gaze lands on Stone, and she does a double take. “And you brought a guest.”
“Coco brought a date.”
I turn as my sister Brittany stalks toward us wearing bedazzled camo pants, a black sequin-covered short-sleeved T-shirt, and a camo baseball cap with her name spelled out in more sequins: Brittany Blaze.
That’s her YouTube handle.
“Hey, Brittany.”
Instead of going in for a hug, Brittany high-fives me—hard enough to make me wince. My hands stings as I lower it, but no way will I shake it out.
“Mom, Brittany, this is Stone Maddox. Stone, this is my mom, Dana, and my sister.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Stone says to both of them.
“So Coco brought us some fresh meat, huh?” Brittany folds her arms and leans back, giving Stone a good once-over. “You know how to shoot?”
Of course he doesn’t! I grab Stone’s arm. “Maybe we can go easy on—”
“I do,” he replies to my surprise.
“You do?”
He nods. I can’t tell whether he’s bluffing or not.
“Well,” Mom says, “Coco, let the boys and Brittany go shoot. While they’re doing that, can you please help me in the kitchen?”
“Um—”
“Great. And did you put the pickles in the potato salad?”
Crap. With everything that’s happened this week, the pickles slipped my mind.
My shoulders slump. “No, I forgot.”
Her face says it’s not okay. “That’s fine. I have some we can add. Brittany got them this morning from the store.”
“Yep,” my sister says, stretching out her arms, “I was afraid you’d forget like last time.”
And let the emotional digs begin. “Good thing you saved the day.”
“Yeah, and we’re gonna have some fun later. We’re gonna play Hide from Brittany.”
“Fantastic,” I say without enthusiasm.
This is classic Brittany. She hunts us like a sixth grader, filming for her YouTube channel the whole time.
But you can’t say anything negative about it because she makes a ton of money, and my parents think it’s great she’s teaching survival techniques to a new generation, even if she’s doing it in pink camo.
“I’ll help in the kitchen,” I confirm to my mom.
Stone frowns as if he doesn’t approve. I itch to tell him I’m more than a girl who forgets pickles and is only useful to her family when it comes to making potato salad, but I don’t.
The moment slips away.
Stone leans over and whispers in my ear, “Do I smell corn bread?”
“Yeah. It’s probably baking in the kitchen.”
He pulls back and winks. “Save me a slice.”
My insides melt as my dad claps him on the shoulder. “You ever been to a pig roast where they cook the hog underground?”
Confusion scrolls over Stone’s face for a moment before one side of his mouth tips up. “Can’t say I have.”
“Come on, let me introduce you to everyone. Would you like a water? You can have beer after we shoot.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
With that, my dad, sister, and Stone walk off to do manly survivalist things like shoot guns while I get stuffed in the kitchen slicing pickles for potato salad.
We go inside and the kitchen smells amazing: Beans bake in the oven and cabbage simmers on the stovetop, with corn bread cooling beside it.
“Mom, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“It wasn’t just me—it was your aunts, too.”
And as if on cue, the side door opens and in storms a handful of aunts.
They see me and exclaim in happiness, charging over to pull me into hugs, see if I’ve lost/gained weight.
Do I have any wrinkles? Not yet, but I need to be careful.
Aunt Susan knows a face cream that will keep my twentysomething skin looking young and full of collagen.
Aunt Whitney says if that doesn’t work, she knows a great plastic surgeon.
They are a gaggle of fun and laughter, charging in and taking over everything, pouring canned margaritas into glasses, fussing over the salad, laughing at each other’s jokes.
They’re a mixed bag—a couple are my dad’s sisters, a couple married in. They’re all over prepping, but they love get-togethers.
A shot rings out from outside, and Whitney, wineglass full of canned margarita, crosses over to the window, peeks out, and says, “Who brought that guy? Who is that?”
She turns back to face us, her expression as pinched as the tight white jeans that hug her athletic frame.
My mom looks up from the bowl of egg whites she’s whipped to stiff peaks. “That’s Stone Maddox. Coco brought him.”
Susan turns around from where she’s rinsing dishes. “Shut the front door. Coco, you brought Stone Maddox?”
My cheeks immediately heat. “Yeah, I guess I kind of did.”
“Stone Maddox from the Maddox family? They own hotels? Lots of them? They’re filthy rich?” Whitney asks.
Every pair of eyes is on me, and it’s not just my cheeks that are on fire now. It’s my entire body.
That’s when Mom says, “Don’t be silly. It’s not the Stone Maddox from that family. Coco doesn’t know them.”
You can hear a pin drop. Susan and Whitney exchange a look. So do my other two aunts, Michelle and Margie.
The door opens again, and in steps my grandmother, pushing inside the house with her cane. “What’s going on here? When’s that pig going to be ready?”
I stifle a giggle as Margie and Michelle walk over to help my grandma Annabelle. We call her Nu-Nu because back when she was born, she was the youngest, and so she was nicknamed New. New eventually became Nu-Nu.
My grandmother has olive skin and a mass of hair dyed jet black. This old lady isn’t going into that good night gently, or anytime soon.
She’s from my dad’s side of the family and is straight out of Louisiana Creole country. She even has the Creole accent. Some things just stick with you your whole life.
Margie and Michelle escort her to a chair by the window. She peeks out and says in her thick accent, “Who’s that handsome man out there with the cute butt?”
Whitney swats her playfully. “That’s Stone Maddox. He’s Coco’s date.”
My eyes flare wide. “He’s not my—”
Mom sighs. “Your daughters seem to think Coco knows a billionaire. I tried to tell them otherwise.”
My grandmother slowly turns in her seat to me and says, “That’s real nice. You can tell by the way he walks—got money hips.”
Susan and Whitney roll their eyes in unison, and all gazes are on me again, waiting for an explanation. My mom shakes her head, tsking, mumbling about how that’s the most ridiculous statement she’s ever heard.
Part of me wants to shout that yes, I know the real Stone Maddox, and I’m worth more than potato salad and pickles, but the words die in my throat because I don’t think she’d hear me.
My grandmother watches my mom for a minute, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she squints at me. “You didn’t even give me no sugar.”
I laugh and wipe my pickle-juice-covered fingers on a towel before crossing over and kissing her on the cheek.
That is what sugar is to my grandmother—kisses, not an actual bowl of the sweetener.
Though there’s a funny story from when I was a kid, when she asked me for sugar and I brought her a sugar bowl.
That of course just made her laugh and pull me into a hug.
“You got my ring sized yet?” she asks with happiness dancing in her eyes.
“You mean my ring?”
“Shoot.” She dismisses me with a wave. “Already taking ownership. I like it.”
“Yes, I’m getting it sized now.”
She squeezes my hand as her eyes water from tears. “Your grandfather would’ve wanted you to have it.”
I pat her hand. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
“Of course.” Nu-Nu leans in. “Don’t tell nobody, but you’re my favorite granddaughter.”
“And you’re my favorite grandmother,” I reply, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
I peek out the window and see all the men and Brittany shooting at bull’s-eye targets a ways out, facing the woods. One of my uncles shouts at the kids, no doubt reminding them to stay far away from the guns.
Stone turns toward the window. I wave, thinking he won’t see me, but he does and waves back, smiling.
My insides do that strange fluttering thing, and I turn back into the room, ready to resume pickle slicing.
“That Brittany sure likes to hang out with the boys,” Nu-Nu murmurs.
“Because no one makes her come to the kitchen,” I mutter.
Nu-Nu lifts a brow.
Mom leaps in. “Her YouTube channel is successful because she’s a girl doing what most girls don’t. She’s unique. Different. And people crave her content.”
Mom sounds so proud. I wish for once she’d sound like that when she talked about me, instead of dismissing my license job—which I don’t even have anymore.
“She’s certainly something,” my grandmother mumbles, making it sound more like an insult than a compliment. “You know what I think?”
“What’s that?” Margie asks, sipping her drink.
“I think Coco did bring a date, and he’s cute. I want to meet him. Coco, go tell him your grandmother wants to meet him.”
Worry pools in my stomach. That’s too much focus on me. If I get Stone, my mom will ask if he’s really the Stone Maddox, and before he answers, she’ll say, See? He’s not rich. I told every single one of y’all there was no way Coco could be friends with him.
I quickly attempt to come up with an excuse as to why he shouldn’t be accosted by these women. “I’m sure he’s busy. There’s plenty of time to meet him once the food’s ready.”
Aunt Whitney crosses to the window. “Is that a lambicorn? Coco, did y’all bring a lambicorn?”
“It’s a lambicorn,” Nu-Nu says from her perch. “Coco, go get that lambi. I want to see it, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I start for the door, Nu-Nu stops me by throwing her arm out. “You don’t have to go now.”
I pull my apron off. “Why’s that?”
She gives my mom the side-eye. “Because that fella you brought is heading this way, and he’s got the lambicorn in his arms.”
Here he comes, and Nu-Nu’s either going to approve or disapprove of him. Fingers crossed she likes him.
Because, I realize, I do.
I like Stone Maddox a lot.
Which means I’m in trouble.