“They’re from Target,” I said. “It’s practically the same thing.”
“Yes, for sure,” he said. “What was I thinking?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Jolene said, giving him a playful shove on the chest. “He likes to poke fun at the organic Lululemon lifestyle, but he kisses all over it at night.” I noticed that her pants had the familiar flared half loop logo. Tacky, Jolene, real tacky to talk about your sex life in aisle five.
“Well, since we’re paying three times the price for an organic, grass fed, extra antioxidant lifestyle, I don’t see why we shouldn’t do the same for pants. Your ass looks pretty good in them, baby.”
He had me until that last part. My face fell, and I looked away quickly before they could see. Mercy, who was crawling through his legs, let out a wail of unhappiness and said she was hungry. Our attention was diverted, and the happy family said their goodbyes to me and exited the cereal aisle together. But not before they asked me over for dinner. I told them I’d check my planner when I got home and give them a ring. Then as an afterthought, I asked for their phone number. Jolene said her phone was dead, and to my delight, Darius asked for mine and sent me a quick text so I’d be able to contact them if I needed anything. I finished my shopping, all the while my insides were buzzing so loudly I could barely hear my own thoughts. He’d asked for my number … buzz buzz. Mine … buzz buzz. He had a woman who looked like Jolene and he saw me—I mean, really saw me … buzz buzz buzz.
I added more diet food to my cart, and then at the last minute, I took a trip to the beauty aisle and chose three different kinds of facemasks and a vegan lip gloss. I’d forgotten to take care of myself. That’s what happened when you were sad. All it took was one person to really see you and suddenly you could spring to life. When I got home, I hummed “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins, as I packed my groceries away. Then I went online and ordered a treadmill and Lululemon pants. I texted Darius that night to thank him for being so kind to me and to ask for Jolene’s number. He texted back right away, sending me her information and letting me know that dinner would be served at 5:30 on Friday.
We have to eat early because of Mercy, he texted back. Hope you don’t mind.
Hey no problem, I texted back. Can I bring anything?
Wine if you like.
Wine, well look at that. I didn’t know anything about wine. I’d once had a glass of Moscato and liked that quite a bit. I’d take that! I was excited about all of it—choosing the wine, choosing an outfit, and I had rare plans for Friday night. Yup, my life was finally on the upward swing.
Darius made meatloaf. When he took it out of the oven, Jolene made a face about it. “Are you kidding? I’m still traumatized by the meatloaf of my childhood,” she said.
But, I took one bite and my eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Just the right amount of … everything. I was flooded with memories of my childhood home in England before we moved stateside. My mother’s meatloaf, and my father’s adverse reaction to it.
“It tastes like my mother’s,” I said, and Darius’s eyes lit up. He was a man and that meant he needed affirmation. I was just thinking how happy I was to provide it when Jolene ruined the moment and snorted. She was always attacking everything he did, making it seem like it wasn’t good enough. But, this meatloaf, it was good. Very good.
“It’s my mother’s recipe, actually.”
He launched into a story about his childhood that made his mother sound like Maria from the Sound of Music. A good childhood like the one he was describing turned out a good man. Jolene rolled her eyes as she pushed the meatloaf around her plate, her chin cradled in her hand.
“Lord, have mercy,” she said, looking at me. “Don’t believe a word he’s saying. His mother’s soul was murdered by his father’s chauvinism.”
Darius didn’t even flinch. He seemed to find it funny when she had a go at his family. Earlier, she called his sister the nun of judgment and he’d laughed and smacked her butt, all the while I wondered when my Lululemon pants would arrive. And then, Mercy, sweet Mercy—ate all of her meatloaf while looking at her daddy with worshipful eyes. I’d handed them the bottle of Moscato as soon as I walked in, but Darius had only poured me a glass, searching out a red from their wine rack for him and Jolene. Red wine drinkers, right. I made a mental note. I asked for a taste of the red, and he poured some into one of their stemless wine glasses. I made a sound in the back of my throat as I swallowed it. Darius took if for pleasure and poured me more. I was gagging, actually—it tasted like perfume.