Page 47 of The Impact (Parachutes #3)

Chapter Twelve

Tahli

It’s been said that on rare occasions of a day off, enslaved Blacks would gather with leftover food from plantation celebrations they had prepared for the day prior.

They would reheat meat scraps over open fire—because they weren’t allowed indoors—creating a safe space not only for a sliver of joy, but to secretly discuss potential uprisings.

After emancipation, Black people continued the practice as a way of family togetherness, often unwitting as to why it felt so damn good to do so. The Cookout commenced.

“…Genetically wired. From our ancestors.”

“So, I like ribs and potato salad ‘cause Nat Turner was my great, great, great slave granddaddy and used barbecues to plan rebellions?”

“Pretty much.” Tahli answered Paige, placing a tray of macaroni salad beside a tray of tuna salad, while Paige scooped both onto her plate. It was what her mother had always taught her, then Vin combined the knowledge from his prison-read books.

“My dad isn’t done cooking the meat yet and you got a whole damn plate,” Tahli frowned at Paige.

“So? I came for the food.”

“I came for the fight.”

“What fight?” Tahli wrinkled her nose at Abby as she joined them.

“Um, Vin plus Drew… Plus Vin’s new thing, and you. Yeah. Somebody’s fighting.”

“I told you how Vin tried to fight Drew at the hospital when you died?”

“I didn’t die,” Tahli corrected Paige. “And nobody’s fighting. Plus, Vin doesn’t have a new thing. He has a friend. Which…good for him.” Tahli shrugged. “He’s lonely. He could use a friend.”

She caught the exchanged look between Paige and Abby.

“Tahli…it’s Dalvin. He doesn’t have friends,” Abby teased.

“He’s fucking mean.”

“He’s not mean,” Tahli dismissed Paige. “And he does have a friend. Bianca is his friend.”

“You had a friend, too. Now you’re marrying him.” She could’ve knocked Abby’s boiled egg head right off her neck if she didn’t love her.

“Just go get the fucking potato salad before I roll your red head across this lawn like a bowling ball.”

Abby laughed and Paige snickered.

“You better not fuck wit’ her, Tah. She gonna dump a bag of raisins in that shit.”

“Meg totally put raisins in the potato salad,” Abby spoke of her mother.

“Meg made hot cocoa with hot dog water,” Tahli reminded Abby.

They carried out more side dishes with more giggles.

By the time her father was traying the meat, a life source bigger than the sun had entered the backyard.

Vin hauled bags in one large hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other.

Tahli observed the old women, young girls, and even babies of her family gravitate to that big, safe man like a buoy in an ocean.

Even Akemi’s little Asian paternal grandmother was all grins.

By Vin’s side was an actress. Tahli couldn’t say which one, and surely, she wasn’t really an actress.

But Bianca had that pretty enough, amicable, visually pleasing aesthetic.

She was dressed exactly how Tahli would have dressed for a man’s family’s barbecue for the first time: cut-off shorts and a plain white tank, understated Tory Burch flip-flops on her feet, and silk press not giving into the June heat.

“Is that her?” Abby murmured.

“I guess,” Tahli replied. “Why is he always such a big deal?” Tahli sneered, as he handed Akemi the flowers and of course, she gushed, throwing her olive-toned arms around him.

“Vin’s always been a big deal,” Abby shrugged. “In his own, cool, Vin way.”

“How about you take my ex-husband’s dick out of your mouth?” Tahli joked and Abby guffawed.

“Ooh. Testy.”

“Look at ya Aunt Myrtle,” Paige butt in, her chocolate finger pointing at Vin twirling Tahli’s 71-year-old great-aunt around and dancing with her to King Floyd’s Groove Me . “Forget Abs. I think Aunt Myrtle wants your ex-husband’s dick in her mouth.”

Tahli swatted at Paige as Vin tossed one of her toddler nieces in the air and the child erupted in giggles when he caught her. Vin loved kids.

Drew liked them. Not enough to make any. He and his wife had decided they’d rather travel and enjoy each other. Unfortunately, her sickness had cut those plans short.

“Dalvin must’ve bought about 30 pounds of king crab legs,” Vanessa walked up with a full pan of them. “Said he got some more pans in the car.”

“Whoop tee Woo! Welcome to the Dalvin Hayes Show,” Tahli twirled her finger. King crab was one of her favorites and Vin knew it. He had a guy specifically for her crab addiction. Had a guy for just about everything.

As Vanessa set the pan down, she joined the girls in observation, as Vin danced Tahli’s 6-year-old cousin around. Groove Me was still thumping, but Terran had enough. She walked up, slapping his leg in jealousy.

“He sure knows how to charm the ladies,” Vanessa snickered.

“Never had a problem with that,” Tahli hiked a brow, stealing peeks at Bianca—a backyard wallflower smiling at everything Vin did. Before walking off, Vanessa leaned in, like a mother would.

“She ain’t got nothing on you.”

Tahli had to snort.

As if he’d just spotted her, Vin slowly placed Terran back down after showering her with kisses.

Smiled with his eyes slightly cloaked under his ballcap, a lip between his teeth.

He roved satisfied eyes over Tahli. So blatant.

She had to shake her head. Her humor faded when she caught Drew’s glare over the rim of his beer bottle, as Leah’s husband chatted him up, probably about something military-coded and boring.

But Vin was already making his way over.

Tahli’s father interrupted him, walking up to the son he never had, and whispering something that made Vin grin. Straight teeth and the tip of his nose peeked from under that ballcap. As he neared her, sipping from the red cup her father had handed him, his features gave way.

“Incoming,” Abby muttered.

“I see his cocky ass,” Tahli gritted, before he reached them, playfully snapping his fingers to the track. He sang it off-key, and Tahli battled amusement.

When she had first met Dalvin, he wasn’t long out of prison, wearing his intimidating armor like a badge of honor. Over the years, he became so secure in his masculinity, he was able to let his guard down. Smiled more. Enjoyed life more. Still could line anyone up or pump fear when necessary.

“Abs,” he greeted, eyes never leaving Tahli.

“Dirty Dalvin,” Abby insulted. As loyal as she was to the idea of Vin behind his back, to his face, Abby rallied for only Tahli. Vin’s mouth twitched in a half smile, only showing half of those white teeth.

“I don’t like that new name. What happened to Big Bro?”

“Oh, you forfeited that in the divorce. You don’t remember seeing that in the paperwork?” Abby smirked. His attention returned to Tahli enough to silently mouth, “Wow.” Symbol of approval with his fingers.

Her dress was simple…and anything but. The kind of dress a woman wears when her ex-husband brings a new girlfriend to meet her for the first time. Mustard yellow, spandex. It might as well have been second skin.

“What’s up, Paige?”

“What’s up, Big Homie.” Paige held onto her nickname, and Tahli watched it subtly affect him. The only person in the big crowd who knew what hearing the words Big Homie did to Vin, because it wasn’t called in Jay’s voice. He’d never tell a soul. With Tahli, he never had to.

“Paige, come help me bring out the rest of the food,” Abby beckoned.

“Nah. You should bring it out yourself. Serve everybody, too. Payback for my ancestors since according to Tahli, this whole shit ya fault.”

“Paige!” Abby shrieked, before Paige reluctantly followed.

Vin was still snickering at Paige when Terran came blazing up to Vin from the rented bounce house. “Daddy! Do you like my dress? It’s new.”

Terran twirled, holding out her blue and white striped dress by the skirt, as Vin squatted.

“I do, baby. I love it. It’s so pretty. I like Mommy’s dress, too. Is that new?”

Terran nodded. Tahli shook her head as Terran took off when someone broke out bubbles.

“I think you need to step away from this food, baby love.” Vin stood back to his potential, sipping from his red Solo cup.

“Why?” Tahli panicked.

“’Cause I’m ‘bout to put you on my plate instead.”

She tucked a smirk at bay. “Now why would you say that with Miss America standing over there?”

Vin chuckled. “She’s just a friend. Remember that? This time last year? He’s just a friend,” he mocked Tahli’s fruity voice. “Now look at you…rocking your little ice chip.”

“I don’t know if I should be more insulted at you mocking my beautiful-ass ring, or shocked that you’re implying you’ll what…? Eventually marry Bonita?”

He only grinned. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t sit too well.

“So why is she still over there? She’s scared? Tell her I don’t bite.”

“I asked her to give me a minute before I introduced you.”

“Aw, she listens when you speak?”

Vin wrinkled his face. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Tahli didn’t even know.

“Your pops’ yard looks good,” he deftly swapped the subject.

“He says your new guys do a great job.”

Vin nodded.

“So, is she really just a friend?” Tahli changed it back. Something about him comparing Bianca to Drew was a thorn. Vin tilted his cup to his lips again.

“Ask me what you really wanna know,” he replied.

“And what do I really wanna know?”

“Am I fucking her?”

Tahli scoffed. Rolled her eyes before looking into his. Swallowed stubborn saliva. “Are you?”

“Now, why would you ask me something like that with Mr. Sensitivity standing over there?”

“Can you not start with him today?” Tahli begged.

“I’m not starting shit. He just better stay out of my way before I shish kabob his ass and throw him on the grill.”

There was a fresh disdain for Drew. Any acceptance Vin had started to allow, was shattered from the impact of Tahli’s accident. Vin blamed him.