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Tapatha. The light-skinned girl with hazel eyes and what my grandma used to call “the good hair” before we taught her not to. The girl Marcus started dating two weeks after he dumped me with some lines about how he didn’t want to be in a relationship. When really, he just didn’t want to be in a relationshipwith me.

“What are they doing here?” I whisper-shriek, because I’m not trying to get attention.

He shrugs. “You know your grandma probably invited her whole address book. And, uh, okay, don’t turn around now... but they’re right behind you.”

Of course I turn around. And of course Marcus is looking right me. Andof coursehe looks good. A fresh cut, tight jeans, awhite shirt cuffed to show off his arms, and black Comme des Garçons Converse that only he could pull off. He has no business showing up here looking that good.

His full lips curve into a smile, and he waves. My whole body stiffens. I feel like I did last weekend at prom. Booger-y Jennifer Hudson vibes.

I grab Reggie’s arm and pull him in the opposite direction. My game plan: avoid, avoid, AVOID.

And I manage to do that for the next couple of hours, which is no small feat in this house. Luckily, Grandma Lenoredoesseem to have invited every single soul she knows, so there’s plenty of buffer. I make the rounds, get my cheeks kissed, and answer the same questions about NYU over and over again. And once we say grace and the food is served, it’s even easier to pretend I don’t see him as I fill my first, second, and third plates and eat with my cousins.

“I’m telling you, man, you can’t be out here yelling that anymore. It’s disrespectful!” Jerry is gesturing so wildly with each word that I’m worried the plate of key lime pie balanced precariously on his knees is going to fall over. “Kobe, rest in peace”—he kisses his hand and raises it to the sky—“wouldn’t want to have his name shouted when you throw your trash away.”

“You’re acting like he’s Jesus or something,” Reggie, the offender, chimes in. He tried to do a hook shot with his crumpled-up barbecue-sauce-saturated napkin and started this whole debate.

“Well, you said it,” Jerry says, shrugging, but then he looks around quickly to see if Auntie Stacy witnessed that sacrilege.

“If anything it’s the most respect. It’s an honorific,” Reggie says. I know for a fact that he doesn’t give one shit about this, that his interests skew more nerdy than basketball. He’s just arguing to argue.

Reggie’s older brother, Eric, snort-laughs. “So we just making up words now?”

“Actually, it is a word,” Wally says. “And I agree with Reggie. It would be more disrespectful to stop yelling Kobe.”

“No one asked you, Wally!” Jerry rolls his eyes and waves Wally away. “You never even played sports. Talking ’bout, ‘Oh, I agree with Reggie.’” His imitation of Wally sounds like some rejectDownton Abbeycharacter. “Man, be quiet!”

What Jerry’s saying is true. Dad didn’t let Wally (or us girls) play basketball or any sports growing up, insisting that STEAM summer camps or after-school chess clubs and piano lessons were a better use of our time. But, still, Jerry doesn’t have to be such a dick about it.

I look him up and down. “Don’t be mad because your little cousins have a larger vocabulary than you.”

“Oh!” Reggie calls, pumping the air. But Eric cuts him off. “Ask your boy, Wally! I bet he’d agree with us!”

Wally’s “boy” is his longtime boyfriend, Kieran. They started dating their junior year of high school and stayed together long-distance through all of college when Kieran went to Duke. Eric thinks Kieran would know better because he wasa basketball superstar in high school, and even tried to make a go of it at Duke but never got to start.

“Where is Kieran, anyway?” I ask, changing the subject. “Isn’t he back in town by now? I just realized I haven’t seen him yet.”

I thought this was an innocuous enough question, but Wally is looking at me like I wrote my name all over his Jordans in permanent marker.

“We broke up. A while ago,” he spits out.

“What?” I’m legitimately shocked. How come he hasn’t mentioned this? I would think at least Mom and Dad would. TheylovedKieran.

“What happened, man?” Jerry asks, apparently cool with Wally now.

“Yeah, I don’t get it?” I say. “You two were, like, so solid. And I thought the plan was for him to move out here while you went to law school?”

Wally’s eyebrows press down low, and he purses his lips. “I don’t have time for that anymore,” he says darkly, shaking his head. “You’ll get it soon when you grow up. I can’t mess around like you anymore.”

With that, he storms into the kitchen, where the counters are covered with foil-wrapped trays. I feel like he punched me in the stomach.Mess around like me?What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I was just trying to understand what happened with his boyfriend of six years, someone who was basically a part of our family, and he’s acting like I wronged him somehow.

“Whoa. Well, that was weird,” I say, leaning back in my chair and looking at my cousins for validation. They’re all staring back at me, wide-eyed, and it takes me a second to realize it’s not about Wally but at something behind me.

“Hey, Lenore,” the familiar voice says behind me. Warm and smooth, like an eighteen-year-old Aaron Neville. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Marcus standing there. With Tapatha.

“Oh, hey, Marcus. Tapatha,” I say, jumping up. Oh shit, am I not supposed to know her name? We’ve never, like, actually met. Are they going to know I stalk their socials now? “Gotta pee. Be right back.”

I basically sprint to the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me.Gotta pee?!I could have gone to the bathroom without explaining to them what I’m doing here. Man. Why can’t my mouth just slow down sometimes?