Wait, You Did What? by T. A. Moorman
Published 1/16/18 by After Glows Publishing
Justine had the job of her dreams, the best parents in the world, and a brother she more than just tolerated. The one thing she gave up on was finding love. She didn’t need that to be happy, right? In helping her brother pull off his own last-minute wedding, Justine may be in for a surprise of her own, and find love had been right there in her face the entire time.
Pops was a six foot three inch tall bear of a white man with white hair cut to the quick, with a small beard and mustache that made his handsome face look menacing, when in truth he was one of the nicest men you’d ever meet. Mom was just a touch over five feet, a fierce, robust black woman with more than a touch of Native American. She had long dark brown hair and the face of an angel, though she could be mean as a damn grizzly if you got on her wrong side. She was also more than a touch racist: she doesn’t count Pops as white. Yes, I know how idiotic that sounds. But since he grew up in the heart of Detroit and played pro basketball for a while until an accident took out his knee, Mom said that made him black enough for her. Did I mention they were a touch insane?
“Well, don’t just stand there like some statues. Your mom made some brunch and has it all set up nice in the dining room,” Pops said as he ushered us in, “And she wouldn’t let me touch a damned thing ’til y’all got here and I’m half starved.”
“You got enough meat on those bones to afford to miss a meal or two,” Was Mom’s snappy reply to that comment.
“Estelle, you wound me with your words. Now, I’m going to need some extra affection from you or I’ll start believing you just don’t love me like you used to.”
“I’ll give you some extra affection alright, a whack upside the back of your head if you touch that food before we say grace.”
Rolling my eyes at that, I sat down. I couldn’t help but smile at how much the two of them loved one another, as we bowed our heads to say grace. They almost gave me hope that I could find that type of love too.
Mom cleared her throat before saying, “There’s some grown up juice mixed in with the orange juice, since I’m more than sure we gonna need it. Nothing ever bodes well when Max calls and says he wants to discuss something with us.”
“Ma, come on, maybe I just wanted to spend some time with my family.”
“Boy, do I look like I was born yesterday to you? If so, them damn contacts ain’t worth a damned dime that you paid for ‘em, and you need to go get a refund.”
I just about choked on my juice listening to the two of them go back and forth. I don’t think Pops even heard a mumbling word over his own chewing. I barely recall seeing the man even fix his plate, but when I looked over at him he was already halfway done and eyeballing seconds.
I had a coughing fit so bad Pops was about to get up and beat me on the back until I choked out an, “I’m okay,” when I heard Max telling Mom, “Maybe I wanna just discuss going on a family vacation. We haven’t done that in a while now.” I downed another glass of ‘grown up juice’ to help soothe my throat, and get ready for the big reveal.
“Maybe if you actually ate some food to go with all that juice you keep downing you wouldn’t be over there having spasms,” Pops suggested to me between mouthfuls.
Only thing I could say to that was, “I am. I’m just a bit more thirsty than I am hungry.” You would be too if you knew just what kind of vacation your son was talking about.
As if he was reading my thoughts, Max cut his eyes at me.
“Quit eyeballing your sister, and tell us some more about this vacation idea of yours.” Poor Mom, she truly sounded excited about it.
“Yes, Max, please enlighten us with more details about this vacation plan of yours,” I said. “I am just so intrigued.”
“Justine, I hate you.”
“Love you too bro.” I even blew him a kiss with that.
Which made him look as though he wanted to strangle me. “Just trying to offer up some encouragement. I’m in the mood for a vacation myself and would love to hear the details.”
“You are so not helping here.” He was turning beet red. Maybe I should let up a little bit. I had barely had that thought before there was a knock at the door. My eyes went round as saucers. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
When Mom scooted back her chair to go to the door, Max stopped her saying, “I’ll get it.”
Sure enough, when he walked back in he had Chelsea on his arm. “Mom, Pops, meet Chelsea, my fiancée.”
After about two seconds of stunned silence, Mom finally recovered enough to say, “Justine, pass me that damn juice you hogging up over there.” Then she turned to Pops saying, “Henry, please tell me your son did NOT just bring me home a white girl.”
About the Author:
When you become a Mom, you begin to put yourself last, and your combat boots begin to collect dust.
Going to your child’s PTA meetings in full Gothic, especially industrial, regalia is pretty much frowned upon. Especially by your own children, and your teens would die of a heart attack. But, one should not have to completely stop being themselves, uniqueness is greatness. So all of that darkness is put into words in her books, and designs in her jewelry sold in her GothicMoms
Mother of five beautiful children, but by far more than just that. T. A. Moorman is an artist, a
violinist, a seamstress, a crafter, a writer, a blogger, a reviewer, a dark confidant and a darkly dangerous, fiercely protective friend. And currently broke, so go buy something of hers. Lol.