shouldn’t talk about the Lounge at all. If she asks, you sell CDs, end of story.”
Germaine let out a whistle. “Was your mother that strict growing up?”
“No, actually, she wasn’t,” Jules said. “That developed after my father left. I guess she felt that she had to be both mother and father to me and Davis to keep us in check. And somehow even though me and Davis are both grown, she still tries to micromanage our lives.”
He turned the car down the street where Jules grew up.
“Is that why you avoid her?” he asked, glancing away from the road to look at her.
“I don’t avoid her,” Jules corrected. “I just prefer to have her in manageable doses, which is what happens when there are enough people around to dilute her intensity.”
“Does Davis feel the same way?”
Jules laughed. “Oh, no. Davis is the golden child. He can do no wrong.”
Germaine parked the car where Jules indicated and shut off the engine. He leaned across and kissed her gently.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he reassured her.
“Thanks,” Jules said, kissing him back before opening the car door. “By the way, you can’t do that either.”
Jules took a deep breath and looked up nervously at the two-story home she had grown up in as she waited for Germaine to lock the car. She had to admit, despite the interesting relationship she had with her mother, she had a lot of good memories of the past. She looked down at her watch and bit her lip.
“We’re late,” she murmured anxiously as she and Germaine walked up the curving stone pathway that led to the front door of Momma Jackson’s blue and white, split level house.
“Baby, it’s just five minutes after six,” Germaine said, laughing lightly. “I’m sure you’re mom won’t even notice.”
“You don’t know my mom,” Jules said, knocking firmly on the front door. “She’ll notice.”
The door swung open to reveal a tall, dark, built young man, who looked slightly younger than Jules, but bore a striking resemblance to her.
“Hey, Davis,” Jules said, reaching up to hug her younger brother.
“Hey, Jewel,” he replied, as he returned the embrace. Jules smiled at her brother’s nickname for her. He had started calling her that when he was three and couldn’t properly pronounce her name. It had stuck ever since.
“You’re late,” he said, raising his eyebrow at her knowingly.
“See, I told you,” Jules said, looking back at Germaine accusingly. Instead of responding to her, Germaine stretched out a hand to introduce himself.
“Hi, I’m—”
“Germaine, the boyfriend,” Davis said, shaking Germaine’s hand. “Jules told me you weren’t coming.”
“Yes, well, you know Jules,” Germaine said smirking. “She tends to change her mind a lot.”
“Don’t I know it,” Davis said, laughing. “She didn’t call you this morning, did she?”
It was Germaine’s turn to laugh.
“I don’t think I should answer that,” he said chuckling, as he glanced over at Jules who was glaring at them both with her hands on her hips.
“Davis! Boy, I know I taught you better than to hold conversations with guests on my doorstep,” a strong voice said from somewhere inside the house. “You think I want them nosy neighbors up in my business?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll be right there,” Davis said, his eyebrows arched in amusement. “You sure you want to come in? This is your last chance to back out,” Davis teased.
Jules grabbed a hold of Germaine’s wrist in case he gave the idea any consideration.
“He’s not going anywhere,” she said, pulling him inside.
They followed Davis into the main dining room where Keisha was helping bring dishes from the kitchen to the elegantly spread dining table.
“Jules!” Keisha exclaimed, taking off her oven mitts and hugging Jules tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Jules knew that what Keisha meant was:
I’m so glad I don’t have to be alone with Momma Jackson anymore.
Momma
Germaine let out a whistle. “Was your mother that strict growing up?”
“No, actually, she wasn’t,” Jules said. “That developed after my father left. I guess she felt that she had to be both mother and father to me and Davis to keep us in check. And somehow even though me and Davis are both grown, she still tries to micromanage our lives.”
He turned the car down the street where Jules grew up.
“Is that why you avoid her?” he asked, glancing away from the road to look at her.
“I don’t avoid her,” Jules corrected. “I just prefer to have her in manageable doses, which is what happens when there are enough people around to dilute her intensity.”
“Does Davis feel the same way?”
Jules laughed. “Oh, no. Davis is the golden child. He can do no wrong.”
Germaine parked the car where Jules indicated and shut off the engine. He leaned across and kissed her gently.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he reassured her.
“Thanks,” Jules said, kissing him back before opening the car door. “By the way, you can’t do that either.”
Jules took a deep breath and looked up nervously at the two-story home she had grown up in as she waited for Germaine to lock the car. She had to admit, despite the interesting relationship she had with her mother, she had a lot of good memories of the past. She looked down at her watch and bit her lip.
“We’re late,” she murmured anxiously as she and Germaine walked up the curving stone pathway that led to the front door of Momma Jackson’s blue and white, split level house.
“Baby, it’s just five minutes after six,” Germaine said, laughing lightly. “I’m sure you’re mom won’t even notice.”
“You don’t know my mom,” Jules said, knocking firmly on the front door. “She’ll notice.”
The door swung open to reveal a tall, dark, built young man, who looked slightly younger than Jules, but bore a striking resemblance to her.
“Hey, Davis,” Jules said, reaching up to hug her younger brother.
“Hey, Jewel,” he replied, as he returned the embrace. Jules smiled at her brother’s nickname for her. He had started calling her that when he was three and couldn’t properly pronounce her name. It had stuck ever since.
“You’re late,” he said, raising his eyebrow at her knowingly.
“See, I told you,” Jules said, looking back at Germaine accusingly. Instead of responding to her, Germaine stretched out a hand to introduce himself.
“Hi, I’m—”
“Germaine, the boyfriend,” Davis said, shaking Germaine’s hand. “Jules told me you weren’t coming.”
“Yes, well, you know Jules,” Germaine said smirking. “She tends to change her mind a lot.”
“Don’t I know it,” Davis said, laughing. “She didn’t call you this morning, did she?”
It was Germaine’s turn to laugh.
“I don’t think I should answer that,” he said chuckling, as he glanced over at Jules who was glaring at them both with her hands on her hips.
“Davis! Boy, I know I taught you better than to hold conversations with guests on my doorstep,” a strong voice said from somewhere inside the house. “You think I want them nosy neighbors up in my business?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll be right there,” Davis said, his eyebrows arched in amusement. “You sure you want to come in? This is your last chance to back out,” Davis teased.
Jules grabbed a hold of Germaine’s wrist in case he gave the idea any consideration.
“He’s not going anywhere,” she said, pulling him inside.
They followed Davis into the main dining room where Keisha was helping bring dishes from the kitchen to the elegantly spread dining table.
“Jules!” Keisha exclaimed, taking off her oven mitts and hugging Jules tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Jules knew that what Keisha meant was:
I’m so glad I don’t have to be alone with Momma Jackson anymore.
Momma
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