Page 246 of Invisible Bars

Giselle stood there, rendered speechless. Her wine glass lowered slowly, like even it no longer wanted to be in her hand.

“What Grandma said,” Imanio said. “Now, the fact that me and mywifehave been fasting for this damn dinner, and I don’t wantPop’smoney to go to waste,” he paused, cutting a look at Giselle, “since I’m sure he paid for all of this?—”

His father smirked but said nothing.

“—We’re going to sit down and eat like anot-so-happy family. Then we can all go our separate ways. Because after today?” He looked Giselle dead in the face and with an expression etched with sincerity. “I’m done with you.”

That "I’m done with you" carried more weight than anything I’d ever seen him lift—and he wasn’t even aiming at me.

Silence swept through the room like a final verdict.

Giselle didn’t say a damn thing. She lowered herself back into her seat—no sass, no spin, just quiet defeat wrapped in designer fabric.

Chi glanced around the table with his eyebrows raised.

“I just wanna know one thing—did all that drama come with sides? 'Cause I’m still waiting on my plate.”

The food was brought out shortly after—fried catfish, fried chicken, smothered baked chicken, oxtails, cabbage, rice, corn on the cob, black eyed peas, green beans, mac and cheese, yams, and cornbread so fluffy it looked like it prayed before it rose.

Giselle, still clinging to the edge of dignity, dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and tried to save face by saying, “I hope everyone has enough to eat. If not, there’s plenty more where this came from.”

Renee's voice sliced in. “Giselle…” she said slowly. “Now you can cook—I’ll give you that. At least, you couldback in the day.But I know damn well you ain’t been near no stove… not unless you was posing for a picture with one.”

Chi coughed, Mama Rose covered her mouth to stifle a laugh and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from spitting sweet tea.

Renee kept going, undeterred. “I mean,thisfood got seasoning. This is soul food; not steamed sadness and quinoa with a sprig of regret. This got somebody great-great grandma’s elbow grease in it.”

“I had some ofourpeople cater,” Giselle replied primly, like she was doing the Lord’s work.

The whole table paused—then broke into scattered scoffs and snickers.

Robert shook his head slowly, his fingers gripping the linen napkin tightly as though he wished he could vanish behind it. Imanio inhaled deeply through his nose, his jaw clenched tight, as if he were grinding his teeth to hold back the words threatening to spill out.

Renee rolled her eyes dramatically at the looming confrontation.

“Here she goes again,” she muttered under her breath, reaching for her glass of lemonade like it was a shot of tequila, seeking some relief before the storm broke.

Dessign's face twisted in cute distaste as she repeated, “Ourpeople, Ma? Really?”

Her expression was a mix of disbelief and annoyance, drawing attention to the weight of the conversation they were about to have.

But it was Mama Rose who shut the room down.

“She mean the people who still talk to her outtapity,” she clarified, taking a bite of her green beans with the kind of grace that made the insult hit even harder.

Mama Rose calmly placed her fork down.

“Let me tell you something, Giselle,” she continued, folding her hands like a woman prepared to bless or bury someone. “Ourpeople are the reason you sit in silk today.Ourpeople—me—raised your babies when you were busy being fabulous.Ourpeoplestillprayed for you when you were too proud to pray for yourself.Ourpeople kept your secrets, covered your mess, and still invited you to the table when you forgot where you came from.

Ourpeople built this country… with no thank you, no paycheck, no freedom! They were raped, beaten, sold, and buried nameless in the soil! And you sit here sipping from your crystal goblet, bragging on folks who would've had us picking cotton barefoot if they had it their way! You think that glass of wine in your hand just appeared? No, that came from generations of survival.

And these white folks you love to praise? The ones you smile extra hard at them country club luncheons, trying to blend in with? Those are the same ones who wouldn’t have let your great-granddaddy through the front door!Theywere the ones buying us, not freeing us! And they damn sure weren’t praying with us either; they were preyingonus!

So when you sayourpeople, just remember, they’re not just the folks you cut checks to for a catered plate. We’re the descendants of sharecroppers who built the South’s wealth with nothing but calloused hands and stolen time. We’re the prayer warriors, Black mamas who breastfed babies that weren’t ours, men and women who sang through beatings, and granddaddies who got called ‘boy’ after working eighteen-hour shifts. So don’t youevertwist your mouth to say ‘our’ people and invoke them for convenience when you’ve spent years trying to leaveusbehind!”

The room went dead still.

I saidcheckmatein my head. Dessign was chewing and nodding as if she was thinking the same. Imanio and his father just smirked—quiet and satisfied, like they’d been waiting on someone to finally say it in front of everyone. If I didn’t know my history about slavery before then, I got a whole free lesson that day.