“Gonna go grab a quick shower in JT’s room and throw on some of his clothes. Won’t take more than five minutes.”
“You sure you don’t need time to do your hair?” Dad pokes fun at Patrick.
“Might wear a headband today. You got a pink one, T?”
“Pussy,” Dad mumbles as he walks out the door.
Hair hanging wet, I gimp out of the bathroom as Patrick closes my door behind him as he walks out.
“Freaking genius, right?” Brisa grins.
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, if he buys it.”
When Dad picked me up like I was still five years old and had just busted my knee open while trying to keep up with Justice and Patrick on a bike and set me on the counter to inspect my ankle, I was a breath away from spilling the beans.
The truth matters, and even though I didn’t lie about my ankle, it was deceitful to let him think my slipping caused this.
Reality does need to play its part, as well, and the reality is that they treat me different because I’m a girl than they do Justice, my younger—okay, not much younger, but still—brother.
When I insisted I didn’t need to go to the hospital and walked around, proving my point, which hurt like a bitch, I knew that the Holy Spirit, or the spirit of truth, kicked me square in my already aching ass, but I persevered. Then realization came to the gang bang of my conscience with a whispered reminder that Justice will find out the truth, and then I will be met with his judgmental glares until I either confess or he gets busy with something else.
Note to self: hand pick the ‘something else’ of his liking and dangle it in front of his face like a big, fat, juicy steak.
Also note to self: make that steak of the tall, blonde variety with attachment issues.
Boys. I shake my head, inwardly sighing.
So, now I sit, leg propped up, ankle iced, watching Mom, Dad, Patrick, and Brisa set the table for, as Dad calls it, Steel Sunday, feeling like I should be doing my part.
When Momma Joe, our grandma, and her husband Thomas come in carrying two huge pans of lasagna and two baskets full of garlic knots, I feel even worse.
“Where’s Truth and Justice?” Momma Joe asks as she kisses Patrick on the cheek after he takes the baskets from her.
“Uncle Cyrus and Aunt Tara asked to trade up,” Patrick jokes.
“Is that so?” She laughs as she makes her way to Brisa and kisses her, as well.
“JT is on his way here. He spent the night with—”
“Carter and Bella, honing his craft,” Momma Joe finishes for her. “So many of you now. It’s hard to keep track, but not impossible. And Truth?”
“She fell and jacked up her ankle,” Brisa answers, looking down as she wraps silverware.
“Over here, Momma Joe,” I call to her and wave.
She quickly kisses Dad and Mom before walking over. She removes the cold compress, lifts my ankle, moves the pillow, sits down, and rests my leg on her lap.
I lean in and give her two quick kisses then shrug. “Honestly, it’s no big deal.”
She nods once as she looks over my bruises then looks back at me.
You know the game never have I ever? Yeah, well, never have I ever lied to Momma Joe, and I can’t start now, so I say nothing at all.
After a few seconds, she pats my knee. “You’ll need to get it looked at if the swelling doesn’t go down by school tomorrow. Don’t want a small fracture to heal wrong. It could mess up your dancing, Truth. And there’s nothing I love to watch more than you dancing.”
I’ve yet to break the news to her that I don’t think dance will be in my future. It’s hard enough to admit to myself, let alone out loud to another.
I nod. “No gym class tomorrow, so I’ll be sure to hit the clinic if it still looks like this after school.”
She leans in and asks quietly, “But otherwise, you’re okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, of course.”
Within fifteen minutes, the table is set, the house is noisy, and everyone is seated around two tables, chatting as we wait for Justice, Bella, Luna, Tags, and his friend.
Kiki sits next to me, looking exhausted but happier than I have ever seen her. Both she and her sister Bella are pregnant and seem to carry their babies up front. Bella is all belly, whereas Kiki seems to have twins up top and a soccer ball under her shirt.
“Is it the baby hormones or all the newlywed sex?” I ask.
She leans in, ignoring me completely, and asks, “Have fun last night?” She then casts her eyes to my ankle then looks back up at me, frowning.
“It was interesting.”
“Fun interesting, or a mesh up of drunken TikToks that ended in a messed-up ankle interesting?” she whispers.
We both look to the head of the table where we see Dad, sitting back, arms crossed over his chest, as he averts his eyes as if he hasn’t been suspiciously staring at me for the past hour.
“Chat on our way to school tomorrow then?” she suggests.
I nod.
Through the ever-thickening cloud in my head and heart of lies and deceit, I hear the door open then Carter’s, aka Tags, voice comes through the entry. “He fell, little moon. He’s okay.”
“But he needs a bunch of Band-Aids,” Luna says in her little voice with a tinge of demand.
“I’m good, little bit.” The guest that Dad spoke of chuckles.
“But you have whole bunches of boo-boos.”
“Hand to God”—he laughs—“it’s all good. But you know what will make me feel better?”
Luna asks, “What?”
“Eating whatever smells so good.”
“It’s basagna,” Luna tells him. “Come on.”
He chuckles. “Lead the way.”
Bella is the first to appear, with Luna behind her, still looking back.
I get kicked under the table and look at Brisa, whose eyes are wide and nervous.
“Ankle,” I hiss.
She doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking straight ahead as she whispers under her breath, “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What the hell is wrong—”
“He’s here,” she whispers.
I snap my head back, expecting to see one of the horsemen and should be relieved when I don’t, but it’s Manbun.
I look back at her and whisper, “We are so fucked.”
Kiki nudges me and whispers, “What’s going on?”
“I’m sure you’ll know soon enough, and, Kiki, I’m moving in with you and Brand when shit hits the fan.”
“Jesus, man,” Dad says, standing up. “Luna’s right; you do need a Band-Aid … or twenty.”
“Big fall.” Manbun winks and gives Dad a bro hug. “Good to see you again.”
I look across the table to Patrick, who scrubs his hand up his face then looks at me and smirks.
If I were closer, I’d pull back that damn pink headband he is wearing to mess with Dad and let go so the elastic snaps back and bites him in the head, but doing so would be a dead giveaway and, well, I guess it wouldn’t matter. We’re screwed now anyway.
“Been a few years.” Dad steps back.
“Certainly has.”
Justice appears, walking in behind Mom, and kisses her cheek. Then he moves to Momma Joe and gives her the same.