Road to Love (Lessons in Love Book 1) Read online

  “You know you can stop fake offering to take over, right?” Roosevelt asked.

  “Hey! My offers are genuine.”

  “And you’re genuinely hoping that I will never say yes. Just admit it.”

  I said nothing in return, opting for laughter that basically said yes. My phone also chimed which saved me from having to confirm his suspicions verbally. It was a text from Grace asking when I was going to be touching down in town. I let her know the approximated time that the GPS said we would be pulling into Ragston and asked why. She replied that she was just curious, but something about the question and her response made me feel a little uneasy. I pushed that uneasiness aside as me just reading too far into things and turned my attention back to Roosevelt who was singing along with my Spotify daily mix.

  He was like a human jukebox, knowledgeable in all areas of music from jazz to pop to R&B to hip-hop, his passion evident. The mix we were listening to now was inspired by a playlist I had full of yacht rock hits, songs sung by the likes of Michael McDonald, Christopher Cross, Hall & Oates, and others in that vein. Roosevelt hadn’t missed a beat, currently crooning along to a song that I often said was responsible for Robin Thicke’s entire career—Kenny Loggins’ “This Is It”. Kenny walked so Robin could fly, in my opinion. I shared this with Roosevelt when I heard the opening strains of the song, and he laughed so loudly I thought he was going to lose focus and crash the car.

  Soon we were exiting the highway to drive the county road that would lead us directly into Ragston, and I felt my breathing grow a bit shallow as an ominous feeling washed over me. It almost felt like a day of reckoning was awaiting me as soon as we crossed into the city limits. Roosevelt reached over and squeezed my thigh, garnering my attention. His eyes held many questions, and instead of saying anything, I just nodded and tried to shake off the odd feeling I had.

  When we pulled up to Charli’s carriage house, she was actually walking up at the same time. I’d texted her about an hour ago, letting her know what time that we would be here, so she could come back and unlock the door for us to get in. Despite the town being small, we didn’t operate like one of those small towns back in the 1950s. All measures of security were taken around here to ensure that there would be no incidents that would put anyone in any danger.

  “Hey lady,” Charli greeted, as she pulled me into an embrace with an all-knowing grin. Dropping her voice, she whispered into my ear, “Someone looks well-fucked!”

  I gasped, quickly recovering before pulling back to make the introductions between her and Roosevelt.

  “Please, call me Ro. Your friend here refuses to, despite it being my preference,” Roosevelt said as he and Charli shook hands.

  “Got it, Ro,” she replied, “So are you ready for the Westfall High reunion experience?”

  “I think your girl here might have undersold this reunion…an experience you say? Tell me more…”

  As we walked into the house, Charli regaled Roosevelt with the drama and antics that surrounded every reunion. A lot of this stuff I’d never heard about since I’d been away and out of contact with everyone, so I was laughing just as hard as Roosevelt listening to Charli run down the mess of reunions past. Tracey, our senior class president and organizer of the reunion, refused to let anyone else help with any parts of organizing which often led to the reunion ending with major drama time after time. She’d organized five and ten-year reunions that ended in crazy drama, but Charli said she’d hoped that Tracey learned her lesson by now and would pull off this third with minimal mess.

  Tonight, was the first night of festivities, with a social happy hour being held at a restaurant owned by Tracey’s family. Our graduating class wasn’t too big, just over one hundred folks, so the place wasn’t completely shut down to the public, but the outdoor patio area was to be exclusively reserved for our reunion festivities, as well as a large, private dining room inside of the restaurant. According to Charli, less than half of our graduating class had actually RSVPed, but that didn’t mean that some others wouldn’t just pop up last minute. Here I was hoping that I wasn’t doing too much by inviting Roosevelt without an RSVP only to find out that folks essentially crashed the joint in years past anyway.

  “Anyway,” Charli said, wrapping up her last story, “I’ve gotta get back over to the Inn before Von instructs his crew to do some shit I didn’t authorize, and I have to lay hands.”

  “Wait…Von? As in Tevontreveous Jenkins? Girl I know he isn’t in charge of the construction on your Inn! How in the world is that working?”

  “Girl, he is the foreman for Phillips Construction, believe it or not! Mr. Phillips has taken him under his wing as his protégé, and he is driving me insane. Luckily Wesley is in town and has been running interference for us.”

  “Wesley running interference, huh?”

  “Mind your business, Emerson,” Charli quipped before walking out of the door.

  “Did you just say somebody’s name was Tevontreveous? My lord that brotha prolly failed kindergarten tryna make sure he could remember all them letters in his name.”

  A giggle escaped before I could control it, “You have no idea how spot on you are. Von didn’t learn to spell his name correctly until third grade. Even then, he had some troubles. Hence why everyone just took to calling him Von.”

  “Wow,” Roosevelt laughed, “And I thought I had it bad with a long name. Thankfully I had two presidents in the history books to refer to, though.”

  “You are so silly,” I laughed.

  “What time do the festivities start tonight?” Roosevelt asked, moving closer to pull me against him as he nibbled on my neck.

  I angled to give him better access before responding, “Happy hour is supposed to be from four to seven.”

  “Perfect,” he responded, sinking his teeth into my neck, then soothing the bite with his tongue, “that gives us enough time to take care of some business.”

  His tongue on my neck and hands gripping my ass let me know exactly what kind of business he was talking about handling. I pulled back from his embrace, grabbing him by the hand and lead him upstairs to the room that Charli had designated as ours. We were barely past the door frame before he kicked the door closed behind him and locked it, then turned to me with a determined gleam in his eye. I slowly backed toward the bed, Roosevelt advancing on me with every step before his frame covered mine completely, capturing my mouth in a kiss that I greedily returned. In a manner of seconds, we were both disrobed, and he was sliding into me on a low growl, hell-bent on delivering on his promise to take care of business.

  By the time we made it to happy hour, Charli was already there. We walked in to see her chatting with Wesley. When she saw us walking in she raised a hand in greeting and l led Roosevelt over to where they were standing. I introduced Wesley and Roosevelt, and they quickly hit it off since Roosevelt recognized Wes immediately. They walked off to grab a couple of drinks for our group while Charli and I awaited Rocki’s arrival.

  “Uh oh,” Charli warned, looking at my dress, “You managed to get past Tracey and her table full of name tags? She’ll be here to track you down and force one on you pretty soon.”

  “She’s really gotta get a life,” I replied, smoothing the bodycon dress I wore tonight over my thighs, “This dress is too cute to be married by one of those stupid ‘Hi, my name is…’ tags. I see you have managed to ditch yours.”

  “Girl I didn’t even take one. She tried, and I shut that mess down immediately. You’d think Von and all those kids would keep her occupied and maybe make her a little less high strung, but…” Charli quipped.

  “Ok, now I’ve seriously missed everything. Tracey and Von are together? Since when?”

  “Girl I don’t know, but have you ever seen a more perfect match?” Charli replied, motioning across the room where Tracey and Von stood.

  Tracey was dressed like a 1950s housewife, replete with pearls and kitten heels. Von stood next to her looking like a reject Carlton Banks, chest poke
d out like a peacock, holding court with some of his boys. As folks trickled in, Tracey flitted back and forth, being the consummate hostess, passing out nametags and drink tickets to everyone who entered. The turnout was pretty good so far, at least half of our graduating class was milling about, mingling.

  After Roosevelt and I had been there for about an hour, Rocki made an entrance. She bypassed Tracey and Von and made her way directly to where me, Roosevelt, Charli, and Wesley stood chatting. As she approached, Roosevelt swore under his breath, grabbing me by the wrist to pull me away from the group.

  “Yo, first Wesley Phillips and now Roxanne Malone? Who’s going to show up at this reunion next, LeBron?”

  “We’re in Michigan, not Ohio babe,” I laughed, amused at his reaction.

  “When were you going to drop the bomb that you were close personal friends with a world-renowned actress and one of the top centerfielders in the MLB, Emerson?”

  “You star struck yet or nah?”

  “You’re just full of surprises, huh?” Roosevelt smirked.

  “I don’t know what you mean?” I replied, with a smirk of my own.

  “Yeah, yeah, c’mon, let’s dance.”

  The music that had been playing softly when we walked in had been replaced with the sounds of my senior year of high school as I recognized the pounding bass intro of Outkast’s “The Way You Move”. I looked over to see Rocki and Seth already cutting up on the makeshift dancefloor and Charli and Wes making their way at the same time as Roosevelt and I. We remained on that floor for the rest of the night, staying well past the appointed reunion happy hour, getting our groove on to songs by everybody from 50 Cent to Lil Kim to Ginuwine to Destiny’s Child. It felt like I was back in high school, huddled up with my girls, dancing around with no cares in the world. Roosevelt fit right in with our little group, he and the guys bonding quickly, much to my happiness. We’d probably not see Charli and Wes often in the future, but with my friendship with Rocki on the mend, I was sure we’d see her and Seth pretty often, so it was good that those guys got along. Roosevelt plus rekindling my relationship with the REC Shop Divas definitely made these reunion festivities bearable thus far.

  The next morning, I received a call from Grace inviting Roosevelt and me over for lunch. I’d planned on stopping by her place with him a little later this afternoon, so I was a little taken aback by her formality in extending the invite, but readily accepted. Roosevelt was a bit more reticent, however, as we walked up to Grace’s place. Since it was such a beautiful day, we decided to walk over instead of driving his car. When we arrived, I noticed that my car had been moved into the garage and my mother’s car was parked in the driveway. Grace hadn’t mentioned that mommy was coming to lunch, but I guess that was to be expected. I was sure that Grace had run her big mouth to mommy about Roosevelt and I’s budding relationship, and mommy had insisted on meeting him.

  The door was open, so we walked right in, and I called out for Grace. She rushed from the back of the house, halting my stride.

  “Nay, you’re here!”

  “Uh, yeah, you invited Roosevelt and me over for lunch. Did you forget?”

  “Nah…I…I didn’t forget at all. We just had some unexpected visitors this morning who haven’t left yet is all. So, lunch will be a little delayed, why don’t you go show Ro around town and come back in like half an hour,” Grace said, trying to turn us both around to exit.

  “Why are you being weird? I saw mommy’s car outside already. I figured you invited her, too. I’m not mad or tripping on that at all,” I said, trying to push past Grace to keep walking into the house, but she blocked my path.

  “It isn’t just Ma, and I didn’t invite her over this morning. She was talking to Tamia, and baby girl mentioned that you were coming over for lunch, so she just showed up. With daddy. And I know you aren’t ready for that yet, so I was trying to get them out of here before you arrived,” Grace whispered.

  I stopped fighting to move past her and shrank back. My legs suddenly felt like jello as Roosevelt stepped up behind me to keep me from collapsing. I opened my mouth to reply to Grace’s revelation, but nothing came out.

  “We can go if you want to,” Roosevelt spoke lowly into my ear.

  I took a fortifying breath, stepping away from Roosevelt to gather my bearings before speaking. The last time I’d seen my father was at my brother’s memorial service. He had only come at the behest of my mother, not because he was actually in mourning over losing his only son. After the services, I overheard him talking smack about Mikey to one of my mother’s brothers. Saying that he wouldn’t have lost his life if he wasn’t so busy trying to flit up and down I-94 so he could be a sissy. I’d known my brother’s sexuality was something of which my parents never approved, but my father’s callous discussion of my brother’s death—speaking as if it were something that he caused and not a tragic accident that had carelessly taken his life was too much for me to bear. For the first time in my life, I used combinations of profane language to let him know exactly how horrible of a person I thought he was. He didn’t even have the decency to be shamed, instead choosing to lecture me about disrespecting him. Our words back and forth quickly escalated to a shouting match that ended with me sobbing uncontrollably and being led out of the funeral home where the memorial was being held. My father and I hadn’t spoken since that day. I had zero desire for reconciliation until he realized the level of disrespect he’d given to my brother’s memory; until he apologized for the careless disregard with which he’d handled the death of his own son? He was dead to me.

  Grace had only reconciled with him for the sake of her children having healthy relationships with both sets of their grandparents, but I had no such reasons to even think about it. My father had no regard for his children as adults, with their own value systems that were in opposition to the one he felt was the only acceptable path. In Chuck Parker’s world, he was judge, jury, and executioner. Ironic for a person who was charged with being a leader in his religious community and was supposed to encourage room for mistakes to be made, repentance to be had, and forgiveness to be levied. Instead, he chose to practice the total opposite of those characteristics when it came to raising his own children.

  “No, I’m fine,” I said, tilting my chin up, willing the tears that were threatening to spill past my eye line to stay at bay, “It’s just lunch, right?”

  “You sure, babe?” Roosevelt asked.

  “It’s fine. I don’t have to interact with him just because he’s here. I’ll be okay.”

  “Nay, you gotta know that I am not okay with this,” Grace started, but I didn’t let her finish.

  “I know this is mommy’s doing, Gracie, it’s fine. I’ll get through this lunch, and we’ll move on.”

  I preceded Grace and Roosevelt on the way to the dining room where Ted, Tamia, Grayson—who was spending a rare weekend home—and my parents sat.

  “Teeeeeee, you’re back,” Tamia screeched, rounding the table to tackle me with a hug.

  I squeezed her back tightly, “Of course, Shug. You’re stuck with me for the next few weeks, I told you.”

  “Hey Auntie Emerson,” Grayson said before standing to hug me.

  I wasn’t prepared for the deepness of his voice nor for him to dwarf me as he stood.

  “Who told you to grow up on me?” I squealed as he wrapped his arms around me.

  I greeted everyone else with a simple inclining of my head before settling in next to Tamia at the table. Roosevelt sat on my other side, silently strong, his hand clasping mine in a gesture of support.

  “You aren’t going to introduce your friend, Emmy?” my mother asked.

  “Everybody, this is Roosevelt. Roosevelt, everybody,” I said, not bothering to introduce everyone separately. He knew all of them anyway from my various stories, so I didn’t feel a need to make a huge deal out of introductions, especially since I thought this was going to be a more relaxed environment. The conversation around the table was stilted as Grac
e finished up making the sandwiches that we were having for lunch. I excused myself from Roosevelt and made a quick trip to the bathroom. I needed a few seconds to myself, time to work through what I was feeling at the moment and try to push those feelings aside to make it through this impromptu “Fix My Life” session sponsored by my mother.

  I returned to Roosevelt, Gray, and Ted having a very spirited debate about who would win the NBA finals. Father and son were at odds as Ted was a staunch LeBron hater; something he felt was his right as a citizen of the great state of Michigan. We were supposed to hate all things Ohio and vice versa. I was a passive sports watcher, really, more concerned with who I found attractive, so I found this debate hysterical. Both Gray and Roosevelt rattled off stat after stat, detailing LeBron’s dominance of the league in various areas throughout his career, but Ted was unmoved. They eventually made a bet, Roosevelt and Grayson both putting up fifty dollars to Ted’s one hundred that the Cavaliers would emerge victorious in the finals; no matter who they faced. As I sat there observing the natural way in which Roosevelt fit in with my nephew and brother-in-law, I couldn’t help but smile. It was a complete one-eighty from that disastrous trip home years ago that I’d taken with Bobby.

  “Now Ted, you know I'm a man who's loyal to the home team, but we gotta give a man his props when props are due. I agree with you that the Warriors will definitely win the series, but a sweep, that's a bit dismissive son,” my father piped up.

  I rolled my eyes muttering, “What do you even know, you don't even watch sports.”

  “Don't be rude, Emerson,” my mother said.

  “How is stating facts rude though, mommy?”

  “Nay...chill,” Grace said.

  I just shut my mouth and sat there eating my food. Roosevelt side eyed me, making sure I was cool, but I just gestured for him to keep on with his conversation. But...after a while, I just couldn't help myself. After every comment my father made in any conversation I had something smart to say, utterly childish, but it also felt really good. I wanted him to see what it was like being constantly taken down a peg like he had done to us our entire childhoods. Grace said he'd mellowed in his old age, and his endless patience with me dragging him by the follicles today evidently proved her point, but I was on a mission. My mother, however? Her patience was wholly evaporated as she finally had enough of me being immature while we discussed the sudden influx of old television shows being rebooted.