The Kwanzaa Brunch, a Holiday Novella Read online

  She pointed at various globs and clusters, grinning wider. “A Kwanzaa cake should have a crunch to it,” she declared. “I read that. Somewhere.”

  “I think she got lost on the recipe site,” Anthony whispered, leaning over my shoulder.

  “I had so much fun, I couldn’t stop at one, so I made four. And I wanted it to be the centerpiece of our celebration, so I made tiers and… so, happy emoji!”

  The room was silent, save the low rumble of people asking each other what she had just said.

  “She means Umoja,” I said, saving everyone the trouble of trying to figure it out. “It means Unity. For the first day of Kwanzaa.”

  “Right! Happy Kwanzaa!” Zoraya splayed her hands in a ta-da gesture. The crowd in the room responded with a smattering of claps and lackluster cheers.

  I inched to the left, trying to get past the table so I wouldn’t have to refuse a plate of the cake Zoraya was already cutting.

  “Sienna!” Fuck. Too late. “Here’s a slice for you! Thin, because I know you don’t like to eat too many sweets.”

  I don’t like to eat your sweets, sis.

  Zoraya held out a slab of unappetizing brown goop, but froze mid handoff, uttering a surprised “oh!” as she took in the lettering on my hoodie. She seemed to force herself to smile through clenched teeth. I stared, daring the author of our Freedom of Expression in the Workplace policy to say a word about my choice of clothing.

  “Well, that’s… I….” Zoraya blinked, then unfroze and widened her smile. She shoved the plate toward me. “Cake?”

  I didn’t see any way to refuse the plate and not make a scene, so I took it, but with little enthusiasm. “Thanks, Zo. I’m gonna save it for later.”

  I turned, pushing my way out of the crowd to the next table, and prayed it held something store-bought and unopened. After rummaging several tables of dishes supplied by my coworkers, I scrounged up a sleeve of crackers and some cheese cubes, a few chicken wings from a restaurant container, a handful of chips, some grocery store cookies and a glass of punch, straight from the Minute Maid carton.

  Anthony and Booker were across the room at a table dressed in a red and green checked plastic tablecloth, both plates loaded down with food. Now that I wasn’t distracted by the shit show that was brunch, our newest employee could occupy my thoughts. Anthony hadn’t said a thing about a new trainee.

  Well, he could have, but Anthony had been long-winded since college. I tuned in and out.

  So Booker was good looking. I mean, let me be honest. That man was fine. In a way that I wasn’t used to.

  Tall, but not a giant, like most of my exes. A rich reddish-brown skin tone, not a dark mahogany or a light caramel. Stocky muscled but not in a trying to get cast as the Black Panther way. Booker was a strikingly handsome, random guy that I might pass on the street.

  But I wouldn’t expect to see him on the street, so I’d trip over myself on the double take.

  More than his outward, Sterling Brown-esque appearance, it was the little things that niggled at that sensitive spot in the small of my back — the gentle strength in his hand when I shook his; the baritone of his voice and light accent when he spoke that told me he wasn’t from around here.

  I’d never made much of a habit of dating my coworkers, but allowances could be made for exceptional cases. When you’ve dated the same guy for ten years, not from around here made for an exceptional case.

  I slid a paper plate with my paltry selections into a spot next to Anthony and dropped into a chair. “You have a death wish,” I commented, directed at Anthony’s plate. “You too,” I said, angling my chin in Booker’s direction.

  “What I have,” answered Anthony, around a mouth full of food, “is a system. See, I found out who was bringing what. And from that, I deduced who can cook and who has a clean kitchen—”

  “There’s no way you can know—”

  “You can if you don’t hide in your office all the time.”

  “I have the largest accounts, half of which are yours. I don’t have time for potluck investigations.”

  Anthony laughed, biting off a chicken wing. “If you get to know people, you know whose food you can trust.”

  “I trust Faith’s food, my mama’s food, and my food. What about you, Booker? You don’t seem scared.”

  “Well,” he drawled, drawing out the word while stirring a bowl of red beans and rice. “I figure it like this: I’ve eaten boudin, frog legs, alligator, cracklin, Tasso—”

  “Do I want to know what Tasso is?”

  “It’s a delicacy. Made from hog shoulder. Usually we eat it with—”

  “Nope, I don’t want to know,” I said, closing my eyes and holding up a hand to halt that description before he could say another word.

  “Anyway, I figure if I can survive eating all of that on the regular, I can withstand some questionable food at a company potluck. Plus,” he added, his eyes flicking up to mine while holding a spoon full of beans and rice. “I’m hungry. Sometimes you just got to be brave.”

  “Sometimes you got to have a will to live.”

  Booker laughed, then the bite of beans and rice disappeared into his mouth. He chewed vigorously, emitting a moan or a grunt every few seconds. “Whoever made these knew what they was doin’. I haven’t had beans and rice like this since I lived with my Meemaw.”

  “Your… mee what?”

  “Meemaw,” Booker corrected. “Mimi. Mother Dear. Madea. What do you call your grandma, man?”

  “Grandma!” answered Anthony, chicken wing in one hand and a half-eaten roll in the other. “How long since you saw her?”

  “She’s been gone a few years. She raised me since I was a boy. Mama had me young, left me with her.” He paused, shaking his head, going back to his bowl. “Anyway, I need to know who made this so I can beg them for a big ol’ pot on a regular basis.”

  “You could always ask my wife.”

  Bookers eyes lit up in the same way mine lit up about free food. “Oh, is she from Louisiana?”

  “Nope, but—”

  “Faith has never made a bad pot of food in her life,” I interrupted, fawning as usual over my friend’s culinary skills. “She could do red beans and rice with her eyes closed. I don’t know about that Tasso thing you mentioned—”

  “Now, that Tasso thing is tradition. It takes years to learn how to cook it.”

  “So give her time.” I smiled, picking up a few Ritz crackers and a cube of cheese and nibbling on them. “Anthony, invite him to—”

  Anthony nudged me sharply with his elbow, then cleared his throat and bowed his head, concentrating on clearing his plate. I took the hint and munched on a cracker.

  “That all you’re eating for lunch?” Booker asked. If he had noticed our exchange, he didn’t let on. He eyed my plate, which didn’t look or smell as good as his. “Hardly enough to tide you over for the day.”

  “I bring my lunch every day. I’ll eat when I get back to my office. I only came down here because Anthony harassed me.”

  “Sienna doesn’t like socializing.” Anthony tilted his head toward me and rolled his eyes. “This used to be the type of place where you just keep your head down. Come in, do your work, do your thing, go home. Zoraya is all about the new way of doing business. Open concept, a family oriented, team-centered atmosphere. These lunches are her idea, and it’s important to her that employees show up. If you’re in the building and you don’t come down—”

  “You will come down.” I finished.

  “Wow,” he drawled. “It’s like that, huh? Zo sounds intense.”

  “It’s not so bad,” said Anthony. “Zo is smart. Got a good business head about her. Her father taught her well. And with your help, we’re going to top Double-X Systems next year. But she’s also the boss, so you have to play the game.”

  “And the game is…”

  “Stay employed,” Anthony and I answered at the same time, then bumped fists.

  4

  Booker
<
br />   “One more manual to go over tonight, and then I need to bounce. It’s my night to pick up my daughters from after school care.”

  Anthony handed me a tall paper cup and settled into the chair across from me. Precision valued Anthony, if the size and opulence of his office, not to mention his desk was any sign. The leather chair that he had been perched in during my training looked comfortable. Not at all like the stiff backed, cheaply upholstered, thinly padded guest chair that had been bruising my tailbone.

  “Plus, I’m trying to get dinner out of the way before my Lakers play. You watching tonight?”

  “Eh…” I shrugged. “I’m not a Lakers fan, man. I don’t mind watching Bron, though.” I took the cup and sipped, humming and nodding at the tasty brew. “That’s good, as corporate coffee goes.”

  “Yeah, yeah. A lot of non-Lakers fans will watch tonight. LA was a good move. A tip for you though… never drink the coffee in the kitchen, man. It’s strictly for the developers. They like it so thick a spoon could stand up in it.”

  He dry heaved, then swallowed a gulp from his own cup. “This is from the cafe downstairs. They use a special blend. Chicory or something like that.”

  I brought the cup to my lips and sipped more of the piping hot coffee. I licked my lips, savoring the perfect flavor. “So, uh… that woman we met earlier? The analyst? Your friend—”

  Anthony was already shaking his head. “I’m gonna stop you right there.”

  “Stop me from what?”

  “Asking about Sienna. I can’t help you.”

  “How do you know I’m about to ask about her?”

  “You have that look. You licked your lips; you did that thing with your eyes…”

  “What thing with my eyes?”

  “You leaned forward and did that thing we do when we’re trying to be casual-like, but we’re about to ask a friend about a woman. I’m not sure you’re ready for her.”

  My eyebrows rose, mostly out of curiosity, but I was also a little offended. “You’re what? Not sure I’m ready for her?”

  Anthony shook his head and sipped more coffee, his tongue swathing his bottom lip.

  “How do you—”

  “Because I know Sienna. I’ve known her a long time. We went to school together, so when I say fam? I mean it. She’s my wife’s best friend. She’s like a sister to me. Feel me? I’m not about to throw her into the mix with someone I don’t know.”

  “Ay, I mean…” I had to pause, take in a breath, force a chuckle, because… seriously? “I’m not talking about marrying her. I’m just… asking about her.”

  “Why?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You heard me.” Anthony stared me down, unblinking. He was mad serious about Sienna. I heard that, loud and clear. “Why are you asking about her?”

  I shrugged, tossing my hands up. He had me. “I don’t even know, man. She just seemed nice.”

  She seemed like an interesting person, but maybe I didn’t need to be interested. My mobile phone buzzed inside the hip holster on my belt.

  Another call from my ex rolling in.

  He picked up a thick manual and dropped it onto the desk between us. “Back to work. You’re on your own in January, and thinking about Sienna isn’t going to help you with that.”

  “Doesn’t she work on my territory?”

  He wagged his head, frowning. “Nope. I get to keep Sienna. She’ll be handling my accounts and you’ll have your own analyst. Now, some of the clients I’m working with now will be yours. She’ll transition them, so you’ll get to know her soon enough, I guess. But not until you’re trained, so…”

  He tapped the manual, his brows hiked high on his forehead. I sighed, frowned, then reached for the manual. “Yeah. Back to it.”

  * * *

  “Tara, you gotta stop blowing up my phone, then ghosting when I call you. Call me back.”

  I took the phone off Do Not Disturb and turned the ringer up loud before sliding it back into my pocket. Time to stop ignoring the former Mrs. LaSalle.

  My first mistake was taking a job at her father’s company. My second mistake was being hypnotized by green eyes and soft brown curls. My last mistake?

  Marrying her. I was a pawn in a game that had been running for a long, long time.

  Anthony had, as promised, rushed out hours ago to pick up his children. I stayed, camping out in a conference room since I hadn’t been assigned an office yet, reviewing accounts, systems, and the way Precision did business. I was going to like this job. Essentially, this was a brand new experience, and I had every intention of eating it up.

  Speaking of eating… damn, I was hungry.

  By the time I pushed my way through the revolving glass doors at Precision, the sky had been dark for hours. It had also been hours since lunch and my stomach protested loudly. I walked toward my vehicle, clutching my belly and trying to decide whose drive thru I was about to crash. Behind me, I heard a derisive chuckle.

  I turned to find Sienna keeping pace, a messenger bag slung across her body. “Lunch coming back to haunt you? I tried to warn you.”

  I knew what she meant. Office lunches weren’t my thing either, but Anthony was my potluck sherpa. I trusted that he steered me away from anything questionable.

  “Hey, Sienna.” I greeted her with a nod, slowing down so she could catch up. We walked together toward the corner lot. She probably drove the two door Benz coupe, the only other car parked in that lot, a few spots away from my Range Rover. “I’m not feeling bad. I’m actually hungry.”

  “Unh huh. Look alive, though. Some of these folks might put some Mogwai in their dishes. You know, the kind that’ll have your guts all unruly after midnight?”

  I laughed, appreciating the teasing tone in her voice. It was… super sexy. “I hear you. So far, so good, though. Do they work you this late all the time?”

  “Nah. It’s just the season. Year end is busy for my department. The sooner I finish my reports, the sooner I’m done for the holiday. I’d rather stay and get it done.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” I nodded, grinning down at her. “Work ethic. I like it.”

  “It ain’t no thang. I make a bonus off of those numbers, so don’t get it twisted. I’m highly and personally invested.”

  “Anthony tells me you’re going to be turning over some accounts to me, so we’ll be working together a bit.”

  “A bit. Yeah.”

  “Looking forward to that.”

  Sienna paused, which made me pause, then turned around to face me. She still wore that hoodie she’d had on at lunch. She shoved her fists in the pockets and then bunched the front of the hoodie together, twisting the fabric from the inside.

  “I was just thinking… I know a couple of places in the area where we could grab a bite. Even a few that serve creole dishes. Just as a welcome to the company. Wouldn’t want you to go to sleep with visions of that ugly Kwanzaa cake in your head.”

  My mind popped back to my conversation with Anthony, which gave me pause. You’re not ready for her, he had said. What exactly did that mean?

  “Hey, no pressure,” said Sienna, a softness in her tone. “I know you’re new to town and there’s a lot of places to eat around here.”

  “You got that right,” I agreed. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need to join a gym. And I’m grateful for food recommendations from a picky eater.” I breathed a sigh of relief when she smirked and rolled her eyes. “So, what are we talking? Not Pappadeaux, right? You’re not taking me to a chain, or some fake bougie cajun spot, are you?”

  “Did you just — boy, no!” She cackled, tossing her head back. “Come on, now. I’d never take a person from Louisiana to Pappadeaux. Not that it doesn’t hit in a pinch, but we have a few authentic spots around—”

  BRIIIINNNNNGGGGGG….

  I jumped, startled by the loud ring, then dug into my pocket for the phone. It was Tara calling me back at the most inopportune time, which was her way. I picked up the call, already
irritated.

  “Tara, hey. Hold on. Don’t hang up.” I glanced at Sienna with what I hoped was an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta take this. Raincheck?”

  “Uh. Sure, No problem.” She nodded, but her smile and soft tone had disappeared. She whirled around and walked away, moving quickly.

  “See you tomorrow?”

  I got no response, but she waved. I braced myself, then brought the phone to my ear as I approached my vehicle.

  “Hey, Tara. Thanks for calling me back. So why—”

  “Booker, who you talking to? Who are you seeing tomorrow?”

  “Aight, first off…” I unlocked the truck with the key fob and tossed my bag into the backseat, then climbed into the driver’s seat. “You need to chill on these questions. We haven’t been legally married in a year, so I don’t answer to you. Why do you keep calling me?”

  “I miss you.”

  She was pouting. Tara had a soft, baby voice, coupled with the downturn of bow lips she thought was seductive. Hell, maybe it was. It worked on me every time.

  “I’ve been thinking, and… maybe the divorce was a mistake, Booker. We could just start over. We can try again, for real this time—”

  “It wasn’t a divorce, Tara. It was an annulment. Like it never happened. And how can we start over? You told me to forget you existed, forget we were married, to get out of your life. Remember that? Remember screaming that across the table at the lawyer’s office?”

  “Because I was upset! I didn’t want to end our marriage.”

  “You should have thought about that before you signed those papers. I did exactly what you told me to do.”

  “And since when do you listen to me?”

  “Ay, look, Tara. Today has been forty hours long, I swear. My stomach is about to turn in on itself, I’m so hungry. I need to get home so I can rest and be back at work early tomorrow. You be easy, aight? And stop calling me. We have no reason to talk.”

  Before she could argue, I ended the call and put the phone back on Do Not Disturb. I turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot, just in time to see Sienna zip by.