Queen commented.
She led Bryant up the cement steps and walkway toward the house, where another small flight of steps led to a glass storm door. They walked into a crowded living room of family members sitting and standing around clear plastic covered sofas and chairs. A deep maroon carpet covered the floor, and elephant sculpture lamps on glass stands surrounded the sofas. Against the far wall, a grainy bootleg DVD of Eddie Murphy’s Dr. Dolittle was playing on a giant screen TV.
Queen’s family was so into Eddie Murphy’s latest movie that no one noticed her and Bryant walked into the house; they were all too busy laughing.
Queen recognized the movie and frowned. “Who went and got a bootleg copy of Dr. Dolittle already? Bubby?”
“You know it,” her cousin Kenyatta confirmed. Three years younger than Queen, in a red t-shirt and black jeans, she sat on the small sofa right next to them at the doorway with a plate of food in her hands. Her plate was filled with macaroni and cheese, potato salad, barbecue chicken, string beans, and a buttered biscuit. She had just gotten it before they walked in.
Her older brother, Big James Bubby, sat at the end of thelonger sofa on the other side of the room. A massive young man in sports gear, he smiled and nodded at Queen and her company, holding his own plate of food. A leg of barbecue chicken in his mouth kept him from speaking.
“Hey Queenie, take your friend and go on in there and get you something to eat,” her uncle Mario told her. In his early fifties, Mario had shaved off his hair for a shiny and smooth dome. He did it to stop from having to deal with balding. Wearing a mint green, summer Polo shirt, he sat next to oversized nephew with other relatives and family friends.
Queen grinned at him and made her way to the dining room, where the table was filled with food, drinks, paper plates, plastic cups, forks, knives and spoons. More relatives and family friends were there, loading up on their plates, including Queen’s young mother, Mercille.
“Well, it’s about time you got here,” her mother complained. “You’re always fashionably late .”
“You’re the one who named her Queen ,” her older sister snapped. Like Uncle Mario, Queen’s Aunt Allison was in her early fifties, and wearing a short styled wig to deal with her hair issue. But her mother, Mercille, had just reached her early forties, and she had started to dye her hair jet black while continuing to straighten it.
Queen smiled at their usual sister bickering and stepped up to greet them both with hugs.
“And who is this?” her Aunt Allison asked, referring to Bryant.
Queen stepped back to make his introduction. “This is Bryant Bailey Thompson,” she told them. “And this is my mother Mercille and my Aunt Allison.”
“Nice to meet you,” Bryant greeted them.
Allison looked at Mercille and smirked. “Well, excuse me . Mr. Bryant Bailey Thompson . Well, that sounds serious .”
Queen hooked his arm in hers and squeezed it, grinning for confirmation. It was serious.
“He looks tall and good too,” Allison added. “I guess he just don’t know how crazy Queen is yet, hunh?”
Bryant forced a smile and a chuckle at the awkward statement.
Mercille shook her head and leapt to her daughter’s defense.
“My daughter’s no crazier than anybody else in here.”
Her defense didn’t sound much better, so Queen moved on to distance herself from both of them.
“Anyway, let’s just get you some food.”
She grabbed several paper plates from the table and began to load them up for herself and Bryant.
“You know she can’t cook either, right?” her aunt continued.
Queen stopped what she was doing and said, “Aunt Allison, please . Mom . . .”
Mercille stepped in again to her daughter’s defense. “Allison, cut it out.”
“Cut what out? A man needs to know who he’s getting involved with.”
“Well, that’s why she brought him over here to meet us today. But you
She led Bryant up the cement steps and walkway toward the house, where another small flight of steps led to a glass storm door. They walked into a crowded living room of family members sitting and standing around clear plastic covered sofas and chairs. A deep maroon carpet covered the floor, and elephant sculpture lamps on glass stands surrounded the sofas. Against the far wall, a grainy bootleg DVD of Eddie Murphy’s Dr. Dolittle was playing on a giant screen TV.
Queen’s family was so into Eddie Murphy’s latest movie that no one noticed her and Bryant walked into the house; they were all too busy laughing.
Queen recognized the movie and frowned. “Who went and got a bootleg copy of Dr. Dolittle already? Bubby?”
“You know it,” her cousin Kenyatta confirmed. Three years younger than Queen, in a red t-shirt and black jeans, she sat on the small sofa right next to them at the doorway with a plate of food in her hands. Her plate was filled with macaroni and cheese, potato salad, barbecue chicken, string beans, and a buttered biscuit. She had just gotten it before they walked in.
Her older brother, Big James Bubby, sat at the end of thelonger sofa on the other side of the room. A massive young man in sports gear, he smiled and nodded at Queen and her company, holding his own plate of food. A leg of barbecue chicken in his mouth kept him from speaking.
“Hey Queenie, take your friend and go on in there and get you something to eat,” her uncle Mario told her. In his early fifties, Mario had shaved off his hair for a shiny and smooth dome. He did it to stop from having to deal with balding. Wearing a mint green, summer Polo shirt, he sat next to oversized nephew with other relatives and family friends.
Queen grinned at him and made her way to the dining room, where the table was filled with food, drinks, paper plates, plastic cups, forks, knives and spoons. More relatives and family friends were there, loading up on their plates, including Queen’s young mother, Mercille.
“Well, it’s about time you got here,” her mother complained. “You’re always fashionably late .”
“You’re the one who named her Queen ,” her older sister snapped. Like Uncle Mario, Queen’s Aunt Allison was in her early fifties, and wearing a short styled wig to deal with her hair issue. But her mother, Mercille, had just reached her early forties, and she had started to dye her hair jet black while continuing to straighten it.
Queen smiled at their usual sister bickering and stepped up to greet them both with hugs.
“And who is this?” her Aunt Allison asked, referring to Bryant.
Queen stepped back to make his introduction. “This is Bryant Bailey Thompson,” she told them. “And this is my mother Mercille and my Aunt Allison.”
“Nice to meet you,” Bryant greeted them.
Allison looked at Mercille and smirked. “Well, excuse me . Mr. Bryant Bailey Thompson . Well, that sounds serious .”
Queen hooked his arm in hers and squeezed it, grinning for confirmation. It was serious.
“He looks tall and good too,” Allison added. “I guess he just don’t know how crazy Queen is yet, hunh?”
Bryant forced a smile and a chuckle at the awkward statement.
Mercille shook her head and leapt to her daughter’s defense.
“My daughter’s no crazier than anybody else in here.”
Her defense didn’t sound much better, so Queen moved on to distance herself from both of them.
“Anyway, let’s just get you some food.”
She grabbed several paper plates from the table and began to load them up for herself and Bryant.
“You know she can’t cook either, right?” her aunt continued.
Queen stopped what she was doing and said, “Aunt Allison, please . Mom . . .”
Mercille stepped in again to her daughter’s defense. “Allison, cut it out.”
“Cut what out? A man needs to know who he’s getting involved with.”
“Well, that’s why she brought him over here to meet us today. But you
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