Chapter 45.5: Yes, I MEANT It
Tank’s POV
Shiiiit! That’s not how I wanted that to go down. I envisioned a nice lunch on Saturday afternoon with just my momma and Lula. Somewhere nice and quiet and peaceful, where they could sit and get to know each other. Not a trial by fire, complete with my nosy ass sisters and brother and none of my hellion nieces and nephews. I knew I shoulda called ahead and let her know I was bringing Lula to see her.
Ranger has Steph as the woman in his life that attracts mayhem, but my mother is the master of the three-ring circus.
My sisters and brother are already in the van, ready to head back to Lafayette Parish, when Momma turns to me.
“I like her. Hold on to her, Pierre. She’s a good woman, no matter what her past. And it’s clear she loves you, but I’m telling you baby, something in her past got her scared. You need to talk to her. You wanna marry her and have babies, you gon’ have to get past whatever it is that’s got her spooked.”
I think for a second. I do need to know why I can never get her to answer her phone. I didn’t know until I called to see if she got the plane ticket whether or not she’d actually come, and I’m still surprised she answered her phone then. I decide to level with Momma.
“I know something has her spooked, but I don’t know what. I’ll try talking. Momma, you need to understand something.” She looks at me, still smiling. “Lula can’t have kids. She was hurt badly. I’ve already told her that I’m not bothered by that and I meant it. Kids don’t mean anything to me and I have enough nieces and nephews, so don’t start down those lines. And I’m not sure about church on Sunday. You know the saying, and I’m not going to push her if she’s uncomfortable.”
Momma nods and kisses my cheek. “Fine, if you miss church I’ll understand, but Sunday dinner is at 3PM and I expect you and her there. No excuses.”
I head back inside after they leave and look at my woman. Lula is sitting on the couch, her head back, with a washcloth over her forehead. I thought so. This was too much for her. Three days in and I may have already screwed up my chance.
“You OK?”
“How many mo’ relatives I gotta meet?”
How honest should I be? “I have no idea.”
Lula glares at me. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t know how much family you got? I mean, I can tell you how many family members of mine you gon’ meet and that’s zero. They wrote me off when I needed them and we ain’t spoke since. Clearly you in touch with yo’ folk. So, how many?”
Sigh. Here goes nothing. “A family reunion would see about 100-150 of them. That’s about 4 times a year. I’m hoping Momma keeps this Sunday’s dinner around 30.”
Lula is pale. Yeah. I knew that might be too much for her, but she always wants to know.
“30? 30 people might show up for one dinner?”
I nod. Lula falls back on the couch, and I take the washcloth to the kitchen and put some ice in it. I place it back on her head gently. There are tears running down her cheeks. I don’t know why and I don’t know how to fix it, but I know what’ll make us feel better. I pick her up and take her to bed. I might not be able to stop the crying, but at least I can make it mean something different.
We spend the remainder of the week exploring San Antonio. I take her wherever she wants to go and she shops till she drops. We take pictures, dine out, and hit comedy shows and movies. The decorator, Grace, comes to RangeMan and she and Lula meet about my apartment. I gave Lula the guidelines: no pink, no green, no loud tropical colors. The basic palette needs to be peaceful. She can add color through accessories.
It was a major fight.
“Tank, that’s boring as hell! How you expect me to live in a place with no personality? Can’t put no colors on the walls or the floors and everything gotta be neutral. I ain’t neutral! I ain’t beige! I ain’t black!”
“And I’m not Technicolor,” I reply quietly. Grace had quickly vacated the apartment and was waiting to be called back. “I’m never gonna be comfortable with loud colors everywhere. Look at me, Lula. Look at my wardrobe, the apartment we staying in. That’s me. Calm. Quiet. Low-key. You’re the big punch of color to my life.”
Lula clenches her jaw and pouts, arms crossed. I’m not giving ground here. I’ve seen her apartment. It’s what would happen if Ringling Brothers and the Barnum and Bailey circuses got together and had a clown fight. No thanks. Wayyyyy too much shit going on there.
I’d prefer my place to look like Bobby’s. Peaceful. Calm. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I call Bobby and ask him if he’s cool with me showing Lula pics of his place. The pictures are online; he sends me the link.
“Lula Bear,” I call. She walks over. “This is Bobby’s Atlanta apartment. See, this is more me. Big comfortable furniture. Neutrals. Lots of room to move and his decorator added color through the pictures and blankets. There’s color, but not a lot.”
She studies the pictures. “What about Ranger and Lester?”
I shake my head. “No color. Their apartments are completely neutral. Lester’s apartment looks cold, all ice blue and grey. Ranger’s is pretty much beige and brown.” I’m not fooled. She wants to see Ranger’s apartment. I want to know why she’s so desperate to see his home. Shit! Let the man have some secrets.
She stares at Bobby’s apartment for a few minutes. “OK, I can get with this, but I need more color. His apartment is still pretty boring. It’s still brown, black, and beige.”
I look at the photos again. Yeah, she’s right.
But I’m not living in pink.
Grace returns and she and Lula take a look at Bobby’s photos. Grace smiles. “Mr. Brown’s apartment has a lot of color, but it’s all subtle. Look at the bedroom.” We look; it’s blue. “It’s a greenish-grey with lots of white and brown as accents. His kitchen is dominated by the red tones of the cherry wood which plays well against the black stools and stainless steel. His bathroom and living room are both pale yellow, which looks beige against the bright white trim.”
I stare back at the pictures in confusion and realize she’s right. Shit. How many colors can women see?
Grace smiles. “What this tells me, Mr. LaPierre, is that you’re more comfortable with color than you realize. It’s just that your friend’s apartment is subtle and low-key. Because it’s dominated by wood tones, your eyes can rest and you don’t feel constantly bombarded with color.” I nod. That’s exactly how I feel in Bobby’s apartment. She turns to Lula. “What this tells me about your style is you need things to be broken up more. This has almost a run-on effect for you.” Lula nods, smiling.
Grace makes a few notes. “What I can say is that my personal decorating style tends more toward Mr. LaPierre than yours, Ms. Jackson, but I can see how to marry the two together. I see room colors having a little more punch and using bolder accessories, but it may mean that the color palette is simplified. These pictures show three, possibly four very subtle wall and furnishing combinations. In order to make Mr. LaPierre comfortable, you two may need to agree on one or two colors and I can use shades and tints to make you happy.”
I continue to study the picture. I see what she means. That living room color, carried through the whole apartment, would work for me. I can see Lula is also onboard with that plan.
“So we can go shopping for blankets and stuff, right? Pillows, fancy curtains, pictures!”
Lula’s head is swiveling around the apartment, mentally seeing it. She’s getting excited, and I open my mouth to speak before shutting it. I want her to come live with me. That means she’s gotta be comfortable. Besides, Grace already said her style was closer to mine. Grace can rein her in.
Grace smiles and stands. “Let me work up a board to show you that will give you an idea of how it would work. We can meet again and discuss ideas before we move forward. OK?”
I nod and she and Lula talk all the way to the door. Rodrigo, a San Antonio RangeMan, escorts Grace from the apartment and out the building. I stand around my gutted apartment and hope Lula doesn’t go overboard.
Lula smiles. “She’s good. I didn’t think we was gon’ come to an agreement on that.”
I nod. I can’t wait to tease Bobby about the number of colors in his apartment.
Sunday morning we drive to Carencro to attend Sunday dinner. I’ve already talked to Momma and she’s threatened the family: Anybody who opens their fucking mouths about Lula’s past will get it. I’ve never brought a woman home before and they will make her feel welcome.
That’s great, but I’m still on the lookout. The first person to disrespect Lula and I’m putting them in traction. I don’t care. I’m trying to convince this woman to marry me. I need her. I want her. I’ve missed her.
Because this is a six hour drive, I make hotel reservations in Lafayette. I want to show her my old stomping grounds, my high school, my family home. We’ve been in Louisiana for 10 generations. We can find ancestors in slave documentation for plantations all through Louisiana. I’m Louisiana through and through, and I want Lula to see where I’m from, so she understands who I am.
Maybe if I take Lula, I can visit my father’s grave without wanting to spit on it for once. Bastard.
We arrive at Momma’s right before two. I didn’t get my wish. This is clearly a family reunion. I’m estimating 100. Everyone wants to see the woman that got Pierre close to a noose. I turn the car off and turn to Lula. She’s pale looking at the crowd, and I can see I have about 30 seconds before my aunts start pulling her from the car.
“Lula?” She blinks and turns to me. I hit the ‘Lock’ function on the car doors. 20 seconds. “I estimate 100, OK? Don’t answer any questions you’re uncomfortable with. Try not to discuss my life in Trenton or what we’re doing this week. It’s none of their damn business. If you need help, find me or my Momma. All my relatives are nosy as hell. I’ll try to stay within sight, but if I don’t let them have at you, it’ll be vicious the next time, OK?”
She nods. The family is at the car and my aunts are pulling on the handle.
“Pierre! Boy, unlock this damn door. You bring yo’ woman to meet us, then act like an ass.”
I hate Aunt Pat. She’s the nosiest one in the bunch. I unlock my door and step out. Immediately, Pat starts pulling on Lula’s door, but it’s still locked.
“Aunt Pat, if you break my door, you will replace it.” My face is blank and she blinks and steps back. Everyone has crowded around the car and I see my Momma hurrying forward.
“Pat, get yo fool ass away from the car! I raised my boys better than that. Pierre gon’ open his woman’s door like he was taught, like what’s right. He ain’t gon’ leave her to get drug out the car by you fools.” Momma is batting everyone out the way to reach the car. I unlock Lula’s door and help her step down. Momma has her in her arms and moving her through the crowd in minutes.
“Lula, baby! I’m glad you convinced Pierre to come home. Come on in the kitchen wit’ me. You gon’ be OK in them shoes? They high, baby. I can’t wear no shoes like them anymore, but you look good in ’em.”
I smile mentally. Momma is making it clear: Mess with this girl and you messin’ with me. Pierre love her and I’m ready for him to settle down.
Momma is still frying fish and chicken in the kitchen and Lula volunteers to help, but Momma situates her in a chair with a glass of iced tea. I start to walk in but Momma points me right out the door. The women are holding court and I’m not welcome.
Lula’s POV
I’m in the kitchen with Mrs. Carol Jean and I’m frozen. Mrs. Carol Jean has introduced her sisters (Pat, Louisa, and Mary Anne) and her late husband’s sisters (Evelyn, Rose, DeLois, and Frances). I wave at Tank’s sisters (Chenae is looking evil) and a bunch of in-laws, first, second and third cousins, babies, the whole shebang.
Did they all come out here to meet me? Damn! I’m not ready for this. I doubt I’m ever ready for this.
I offer to help, but Mrs. Carol Jean takes one look at my outfit and nails and declares I’m too pretty to be gutting fish and chopping up chickens. OK, I agree with that. I insist on something to do (to keep Tank’s people from just staring at me) and Pat finally passes me some cakes to frost. OK, this is work I can do . . . although I’d rather eat the damn cake now. I need something to calm my nerves, although I did find it funny when Mrs. Carol Jean used her cleaver to point at the door just as Tank was trying to come in.
“So what ya’ll done this past week? Pierre has been a gentleman, right? He take you out to see the city, right? He ain’t kept you at his tender mercies all week, has he?” She winks and I laugh. I love Tank’s momma.
“I’ve been at his mercy enough, but no, he got me out to see the city.” All the women are laughing and Mrs. Carol Jean is grinning. “We did some shopping—”
“We?” she says, smiling.
“OK, I did some shopping. He carried the bags and tried to look interested.” She laughs and so do the aunts. “We went to some comedy shows and to some really nice restaurants. He been showing me around.”
“When you leave, baby?”
“We’re playing it by ear.” She nods, smiling. “We met with the decorator for his apartment, and I don’t think he wants me to leave before she comes back with her ideas on how to decorate the place.”
Mrs. Carol Jean nods. “Yes, he’s been waffling on that apartment. What’s your style?”
I grin. “Color!” Everyone laughs. “If left to Tank, that apartment would be brown. Brown leather, wood floors, beige all the way. We got into it about that.”
“And?”
“Truce. He used Bobby’s apartment as an example of what he likes and the decorator pointed out that there was a lot of color in that place. It threw him and made it easier for him to agree to meet me halfway.”
She nods. “Yes, relationships are all about these little compromises. Having to come together and meet each other halfway. So you got more color?”
I smile. “Well, I’m waiting to see what Grace, the designer, comes back with but yeah, we got more color in the place. As long as it’s not Technicolor, he says.”
Everyone smiles. It’s a real production in this kitchen. The aunts are frying chicken and prepping fish for a big fryer in the back yard. I can see all the sides being finished and I just finished frosting a caramel cake. I wanna lick the spoon.
Wilma grins. “Just like Pierre. Go ahead and lick the spoon. He always did.” She pokes Thelma while I get to work. “Remember that? As a kid, if you wanted to find the frosting spoon, you just looked for Pierre. He had it, no doubt.”
I laugh. The ladies all start telling me their favorite Tank story and I laugh till I have a headache. Drove his father’s truck halfway across town at 13 and didn’t get caught cuz he looked like a full grown man. Broke a boy’s leg playing high school football, then broke his own leg the one time Mrs. Carol Jean came to see him play because he was looking in the stands trying to see if she was paying attention! Decided to run away from home at five but went back cuz his momma was making macaroni and cheese for dinner and that was his favorite meal. He got a whipping but Mrs. Carol Jean gave him extra for dinner.
Dinner is served outside on picnic tables, chairs, wherever you can get a seat. As the guest of honor (really?), I’m seated next to Mrs. Carol Jean and served first. I’m looking around for a man that looks like Tank’s daddy and I don’t see one. Matter of fact, now that I think of it, Tank never mentions his daddy. While he’s off grabbing dessert, I decide to ask.
“Mrs. Carol Jean?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Where’s Tank’s daddy?”
The table gets quiet. I realize I probably shoulda asked Tank first. Mrs. Carol Jean smiles sadly at me. “Dead, baby.”
“Oh.”
“You need to talk to Tank about that.”
I nod. Clearly this is a touchy subject. When Tank returns I lean over and whisper, “I messed up.” He raises an eyebrow. “I asked about your daddy. Touchy subject?” He nods, jaw clenched.
Once dinner is over, we sit around talking. His male relatives are all introduced and they take time to tease me about “getting ‘ole’ Pierre here whipped. Boy spent half the afternoon looking at that door.” Tank blushes, as much as he does, and mutters that they’re lying. He didn’t have the best view of the door until he made Antoine move.
I’m hugged by everyone when Tank announces that we’re going to leave. His momma whispers that she knows his plans and she’ll see me this week and she’s looking forward to it. The rest of his relatives tell me they look forward to meeting me again, sometime soon.
Preferably sometime soon. This is the most time Tank’s spent with the family in years.
The next day, Tank gives me a tour of Carencro. Ain’t much to tour, really. The town is small. We end up at the graveyard. We’re still sitting in the Escalade when Tank speaks.
“My father was a bastard.” I look over and his jaw is clenched. “Drank too much, smoked too much and when he drank he beat the shit outta us. Beat the shit outta me and Antoine the worst cuz we were turning into men in his house. We didn’t automatically obey him anymore. As we got older, we started instigating the fights to keep him off Momma and the girls.”
I nod. My family life wasn’t as bad as his, mostly because my daddy wasn’t there, but this sounds brutal.
“Town gossip said I wasn’t his. I don’t look nothing like my brother or sisters.” He’s quiet and I take a moment to think about that. He’s right. He doesn’t, not body wise, but you can see the resemblance in the faces. “He believed Momma had fucked around on him, so he never claimed me as his. Always looked at me as if he wanted to break me. Momma swears she never cheated, that I’m his, but he thought she named me Pierre to make up for a guilty conscience.” He turns to me. “His middle name. It’s why I hate being called Pierre.”
I nod. Sounds perfectly reasonable to me and makes my dislike of my name seem petty.
“He drank himself to death when I went to juvie. I didn’t cry. I didn’t miss his ass at all. If anything I was relieved. It meant he’d never hit my Momma again.”
I lace my fingers through Tank’s hand. “Do you want to visit his grave today?” He shakes his head. “Then let’s move on.”
Tank looks at me, serious. “I rarely drink more than a beer or two. I don’t smoke often. Just a cigar or two on special occasions. I’ve never hit a woman in anger and I’ll never hit you, angry or not. I don’t want to be the bastard in the grave six feet under over there.” He passes me his handkerchief, starts the car, and we head to his high school.
Tank’s POV
This feels uncomfortable. I’m peeling back everything for Lula and it hurts more than I thought it would. Momma told me I had to talk, I had to make Lula feel like she knew me as a man in order for her to make a decision.
“Baby, if I’d known the man your daddy was before we married, I’d never have married him. Tell her who you are now, so she can make a decision.”
My momma has never been wrong, so I’m letting her see me. I hope I can get through all of it today. This talking stuff is hard and goes against all my training. We arrive at the high school and I grin. Football practice just broke for lunch. It’s too hot for the boys to be out here running and sweating, so we should have the track for a while. I look down. Lula’s wearing sneakers like I asked her to. Good. We can walk the track.
I climb out and take her hand. Now for another piece of my history.
“I got locked up in juvie at 14.” She stops and looks at me in shock. I nod and tug her forward. “I was a quiet kid and quiet kids, in Louisiana, get overlooked. Didn’t mean I was stupid. I just didn’t speak unless I needed to. Besides, I spent my time listening to my father beat my mother and trying to think of ways to leave home. I had other shit on my mind besides cat, rat, mouse.” Lula laughs and I smile mentally.
“Since I was quiet, nobody knew who the fuck I was. The teachers just kept passing me. So, I started skipping class, then school altogether, and hanging out with Antoine’s crew, doing petty crimes. That’s what I got locked up for at 14. Robbery. I was the juvie, so Antoine let me take the fall for it. Otherwise, he’d have gone up for 5-15.”
I look at Lula, who nods, clearly pissed.
“Back then, juvie wasn’t separate from adult. Thank god I was big at 14. Went in at 5’8” and came out a 6′ even. Adult jail is no place to be and I had a year of that shit. It was a volunteer working with juvies in that place who realized I couldn’t read. She spent the next year working with me, coaching me, until I could. Had me put in the literacy program with the adults and brought me all kinds of books, arranged for me to get books on tape. Lucille was a good woman, a true friend. When I got out, we kept in touch until she died a few years ago.
Meanwhile, my momma threatened to remove a layer of my ass if I ever got sent up again. She overheard Antoine bragging about how he got out of going to jail and she kicked his ass out. Told him that family came before some little thugs in the street and if he’d sell his brother like Joseph into slavery, he deserved what he got.” Lula harrumphs and I smile. “I told Antoine, I ain’t Joseph. I won’t forgive that shit so easy, but my nephews don’t deserve to not have what they need because they daddy is a shithead. That’s why I pay his child support and he knows that if I don’t pay, Tamika will have his ass put in jail the next day. Me and her, we cool cuz she know I love my nephews, but she hates his ass.”
“I ain’t that fond of him either,” Lula mutters, looking pissed. I laugh and hug her close.
“So I get out and I’m ready for high school. Thanks to Lucille, I can read and I’m good at English and history, but not science. Math I’m good at thanks to hustling, but Algebra?” I shake my head. “Math ain’t supposed to have letters.” Lula laughs hard at that. “So I’m failing math and science and I call Lucille for help. She tells me she’s not that great in those subjects either but I should ask the teachers for help. I ain’t comfortable with that and she told me ‘A true genius admits that he knows nothing’. Einstein. So if he’s humble enough to ask for help, I should be. I think on it and I ask for help. When I graduated, I graduated number 14 in a class of 161. I went from being nobody to in the top 10% of the class.”
Lula is smiling at me. We keep walking around the track and I realize I’m smiling too. I enjoyed my time here and, with Lula by my side, it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it might to think about how Antoine sold me out.
“So, that’s why I paid for my sisters’ educations. I didn’t want them to be like all the other girls around here, pregnant at 16 with no education and no husbands around. I’ve seen enough of that. They know my standard. They keep their legs closed and go to college. You got a free ride as long as there’s no babies involved. The moment you pop up pregnant, my support stops.
Obviously, you loved some fucker enough to pop up with his kid, so let him take care of his responsibilities. That baby ain’t my responsibility.” Lula is nodding quietly. “So that’s why I’m 2 for 3 with them. Wilma and Thelma got good degrees and good jobs. Meant they could meet good men and get married before they had babies. Chenae has a year left.”
“What she studying?”
“Social Work. Won’t pay worth shit in Louisiana, but she’ll make a difference and that’s all I care about.”
Lula nods. I know it’s a sore point for her that it’s taking her so long to get her Associate’s. She’s paying for it one and two classes at a time because that’s all she can spare. She’s too proud to let me help and I’m proud of her for not giving up.
“Ranger? Ranger, Lester, and Bobby are my brothers. And Hector. Those men have been there for me since the moment I met them in the Army. Ranger introduced Hector to us and Hector’s rock solid, a true friend. I never had those until I met them. I look at Antoine and I want to break him sometimes. Weakest bastard I know but like I said, if I stop paying his child support my nephews go without. He uses his child support money to do what he wants, which is buy weed and try to be a rapper.”
“He any good?”
“Nope. Can’t rhyme worth a damn.”
Lula laughs then sobers. “You got a double standard. That ain’t fair.”
I nod. Shit. She caught me on that. “Yeah, I know. The girls call me on it all the time, but them boys carry our name. They get pregnant, that’s some other man’s child. His responsibility. I recognize I’m not right in this but Tamika knows the deal. She knows that the day I marry is the day Antoine goes to jail cuz I’m not paying anymore.”
Lula stops. “You know I can’t have kids,” she says quietly.
“You know I don’t care,” I reply. “I want to marry you. I didn’t ask you to have my kids.” She swallows hard and nods. We walk around the track once then return to the Escalade. Now that she’s seen the graveyard and the high school, I’m done with Carencro.
Lula’s POV
Tank’s doing full court press with this. He’s serious about wanting to get married, and I don’t know if I’m ready. Getting married would mean moving, clearly. He might talk a good game about sending Lester here and taking Trenton, but he’s clearly a southern boy at heart. He’s close to his momma and family.
What do I have holding me to Trenton? I mean, I’m not in contact with my family, so that’s not an issue. My job is shit. I’m in school but I can transfer.
Jackie, Steph and Connie. Really, my friends are the only things holding me to New Jersey. Actually, just Steph and Connie. Now that I’m not on the streets anymore, my friendship with Jackie is distant, which hurts. That’s why I’m so scared of losing Steph. She’s my first grown-up friend, the first person who looked at me and saw more than just a ho. Not being able to talk to her like I want hurts. Not being able to get past the RangeMen to see and talk to her hurts.
That day at the spa, Mary Lou said something that stuck with me. When she had her baby, her relationship with Steph changed. She had bigger responsibilities and Steph wasn’t going to come first anymore. That’s how I feel about Steph and RangeMan. She has RangeMan, Tank’s company to run. Since he told me he’s a part owner, I realize that Steph is Tank’s employee too and that’s why she’s so determined to do a good job. She’s doing it for Ranger, Tank, Bobby, and Lester. Every time I pitch a fit about wanting to see her, I’m doing it when she’s trying to make sure the company is OK. She don’t need me doing that. She needs me to support her. What did Mary Lou say? She calls and leaves messages for her to call when she has a moment. Reminds her to get out when she can. That’s what I need to do. They still friends and they’ve been friends for years. Decades. Since they was little girls.
Me and Steph, we can do it. We’ll make it. We just have to put effort in.
I turn to Tank. He’s spent all day telling me his secrets. Might as well tell him mine. “I did this once before,” I say, quietly. “I believed a man when he said he loved me and I followed him from my home to where he was going and I ended up trickin’. This feels déjà vu. I don’t know if I trust it.”
The look on Tank’s face is astonished, then blank. “Is that why you won’t answer the phone?” I nod. His jaw clenches. The rest of the ride is in silence.
The rest of our time in Lafayette Parish is quiet. The day before we leave, we invite Mrs. Carol Jean to join us for dinner in Lafayette. She’s grinning to beat the band. Tank’s quiet, quieter than usual. I’m nervous.
“Lula Baby!” She hugs me tight and grins. “I thought Tank might never bring you to see me again.”
I smile. “He’s been giving me the grand tour. I think I’ve seen everything related to Carencro over the last few days.”
“Couldn’t have taken that long. Ain’t that much here to see.” I grin and we both laugh. We tease Tank over dinner and he grins and doesn’t say much.
I’m nervous. He’s more quiet than usual. Finally, the waiter brings dessert, a small 6″ cheesecake.
It has a diamond ring and a flower on top.
I stare at the ring, appetite gone. It ain’t no small diamond. The band is made for the finger of a full-figured woman. Lots of diamonds and baguettes on this stunner.
Finally, I look up at Tank. He smiles. “Whenever you’re ready.” He passes a handkerchief to his momma, then me. I look over and Mrs. Carol Jean has tears running down her face and she’s grinning to beat the band.
I look at the ring, then Tank. “What? No knee? No flowery proposal? Just a ring and a cheesecake?”
Tank laughs, a booming laugh which gets the attention of anyone in the restaurant not already watching us. He cuts a piece off the cheesecake and feeds it to me. “There. I’ve fed you cake, given you a flower and I’ve presented the ring. That’s the wedding ceremony and the reception all in one. Jitters gone?”
I narrow my eyes and his momma pops him. “Boy, get on your knees and do this right! Give me a daughter-in-law before I pop you again.” I hear people all across the restaurant chuckle.
I shake my head and raise my hand, then extend it. Tank gets the idea. He slides the ring onto my finger then kisses it and me, a passionate, heart-stopping kiss. I hear an ear splitting whistle behind me and find Bobby grinning.
“Looks like I made it just in time for the best part. Santos is gonna flip that he missed this!”
