Page 25 of Justice for Samara

“I thought that would be one of your mom’s casseroles,” she quipped.

“Oh, yeah. Wonder what it’ll be tonight? I don’t care, because I won’t be there,” he said with a grin. Then he looked around. “Wow. You’ve gotten a lot done. Looks nice. And it looks like you. It has your personality.”

“Yeah? How so?” She couldn’t wait to hear that answer.

“Pretty without being too frou-frou. Nothing bougie.”

“Bougie? That’s a term you know?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard Chelsea say it. Sharla too.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“Of course I do! Like, ‘All those ladies in Lexington are so bougie.’ Meaning they want to live like the Kardashians.”

She nodded and gave him a nasty smirk. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

“You think I don’t know these things?” She laughed. “Okay, so that right there,” he said, pointing to a wooden puzzle clock she’d put together, “that’s sick.” Samara laughed loudly. “It is. Very cool. Does it really work?”

She stepped over to it and touched it. Something inside it started to whir, and instantly, the minute hand started to sweep around. “Whaddya think?”

“It does work! I like it. I’ve been seeing those on the internet and wondered if they really worked. Might have to get one. Got some plates? Want to use paper plates?”

“Paper plates are sick,” she said as she grabbed a few from a stack in the cabinet.

“Oh, I see. You’ve got it too?”

She placed the plates on the table. “I sure do.”

“You woke too?” he asked with a laugh.

“According to my younger sister I’m not.”

“How so?”

“I had to set her straight. She was saying, ‘No black woman should have to cook. We need to stay the hell outta the kitchen.’ And I said, “Yeah, well, what if she likes to cook?’ So she said, ‘Ain’t no black woman wanna cook.’ And I said, ‘If she wanna cook, she should cook.’ She looked at me like I was crazy.” Samara was chuckling under her breath. “My mama said, ‘Girl, you couldn’t boil water, so you ain’t got no say.’”

“To you?”

“No. To her. I can damn well cook,” she informed him.

“Oh. Well, glad we cleared that up.”

“I said Icancook. I didn’t say Iliketo cook. There’s a difference.”

“Boy, I hear ya there. I like to eat, but I don’t like to cook. Difference there too.”

“Uh, the biggest. And I don’t mind the cooking, but I hate the cleaning up.”

He grinned. “Me too. That’s the least fun part of the whole thing.”

“Then we should have fun because we don’t have anything to clean up here. What do you want to drink?”

“Got any tea?”

“Do I got any tea? Do corn got rows? You damn straight I got some tea.” After she’d filled two glasses and set them on the table, she grabbed a stack of napkins and laid them on the table’s corner. “Anything I’ve forgotten?”

“Ketchup.”