Sugar chewed hard on her bottom lip nervously as she peeked through the curtains of the window stationed over the kitchen sink. She squinted her eyes as if she would be miraculously gifted with telescopic vision at any moment. She had every damn right to be nosy as hell. Several feet away from the window stood Miles at the grill alongside her father Cal, Sully, and Uncle Alfred, who was using his trusty rusty outdoor portable deep fryer to cook up some chicken. All four men were quite engaged in a lively conversation as they sipped from their brown-bottled beers, grinned toothily at each other, and shared a few chuckles.

She chewed harder on her lip as her baby’s father made a comment or maybe, a joke—she wasn’t sure. Whatever Miles said, her father tossed his shaking head back with his signature roaring laugh filling the air and gave him an approving slap on the back.

God, she’d give anything to read lips.

Without warning, Miles aimed his attention directly at the kitchen window she was spying from as he brought his beer to his lips for another drink. He gave her a wink and she panicked by shutting the curtains.

“You finished spying already,” Rochelle asked from where she was at the kitchen table, husking corn.

“Or maybe she just got caught and she had no choice but to retreat,” Katrina teased as she stood at the kitchen counter, chopping up some vegetables to put in a salad.

“Oh, hush up,” Sugar said saucily as she marched over to the oven, opening the door to check on the lemon cake baking inside.

Her reply earned her some laughs from both women.

“About another six minutes,” she mumbled to herself after she poked the lemon cake with a wooden skewer to examine its doneness before shutting the oven door.

“You’re mighty feisty today,” Katrina noted as she sliced a cucumber.

“I’m just a little on edge,” Sugar admitted.

Rochelle arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see why. Miles is getting along great with everyone. Plus, he’s best buddies with Daddy. That isn’t any easy feat. Give the man credit when it’s due because he knows how to handle himself.”

Everyone’s attention snapped to the kitchen backdoor as it creaked open and a seven-year-old little girl stood in the doorway.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop running in and out of the kitchen, Yasmin? Go on somewhere,” Katrina huffed.

Yasmin pursed her lips at Katrina, unphased by the directive and looked at Sugar dead-on. “Shug, Auntie Georgette said unless you growing the potatoes, it doesn’t take damn long to get the potato salad from the fridge and bring it out here.”

Sugar blinked her eyes in surprise as the curse word slipped from the seven-year-old’s lips with such ease. She opened her mouth to speak, but she didn’t know what to say.

“Girl, who are you talking to with that cussing,” Rochelle hissed.

The grown little girl put her hand on her hip, attitude radiating off her in poignant waves. “Auntie Georgette told me to repeat what she exactly said,” she said, rolling her eyes. She then decided to end the conversation by shutting the door on them.

Rochelle clenched her teeth, husking corn aggressively. “Why did you let that little heifer talk to you like that, Shug? I would’ve straight whooped her ass.”

“I pick my battles,” Sugar replied with a shrug as she walked to the fridge and retrieved a gigantic bowl of potato salad protected with saran wrap.

“You gotta put your foot down with these little bastards or they will straight run all over you. I hope you won’t let your own children talk to you like that one day,” Rochelle voiced.

Sugar stiffened at the mention of ‘your own children’ such as the one growing inside of her—the one that only Sully outside herself and Miles knew about.

“Of course not,” she chuckled nervously as she causally escaped through the backdoor, placing the bowl on the designated potluck table filled with old family recipes beloved and not-so-much. For instance, Auntie Velma, Georgette’s aunt therefore Sugar’s great aunt, brought her famous sweet potato pie and Cousin Vernon, Sugar’s father’s cousin, brought his infamous cornbread that was sweet enough to give a healthy soul diabetes and dry enough to make anyone cough. Uncle Rufus and his wife Della came with a gigantic metal pot of good old-fashion collard greens with succulent ham hocks.

She dusted off her hands on her red denim shorts and stood by the food table, scanning her surroundings.

The older generations were relaxing in their chairs at the lined-up picnic tables, partaking in lemonade, sweet tea, beer, and gossip. Victor took it upon himself to DJ the occasion, doing a great job of playing good old-fashion music for the oldheads and some fresh music for the younglings which beckoned many young and old to the wide empty space of grass designated as the dance floor, so they could show off their best moves. Some little ones were splashing around in the kiddy pool and playing on the playground set, squealing and giggling. The teenagers were scattered about in clusters. A few of them were in the house playing a video game in the living room with Mallory while the others stationed themselves underneath the shade of an oak tree, chatting it up and laughing with each other while looking on their phones.

Then her line of sight landed on the grill where her father, twin brother, and uncle were enjoying their conversation and though Miles didn’t stray from where he was, he wasn’t an active participant like before—not with his gray eyes sorely on her with an unfaltering gaze. Her heartbeat spiked in pace when she discovered he was watching her.

“Shug, your cake,” Katrina called.

Sugar took one last glance at him before she made her way into the house. After taking the cakepan out with some oven mittens, she placed it on the counter to cool off.

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, the kitchen backdoor slung open. This time it was Georgette with an empty beer bottle in hand.

“Maggie,” the Hartwell matriarch began, an impending lecture at the tip of her tongue.

“Here we go,” Rochelle muttered with a roll of her eyes.

“Pipe down, Rochelle Delilah, this has nothing to with you,” Georgette ordered her second eldest daughter, shooting a motherly warning look before she cut her eyes back to Sugar. “Now, Maggie, why in the devil are you hiding in this kitchen when your special guest is out there. You haven’t spoken a single word to that man since you two got here and you haven’t been taking care of him like you should.”

“Uh,” Sugar stretched out the sound, a total lost for words so she decided to repeat exactly what she heard for clarification. “Taking care of him like I should?”

Georgette shook the empty beer bottle for all in the kitchen to see as she closed the kitchen door behind her, marching over to the fridge with a purpose. “You should be make sure he doesn’t need a fresh beer and fixing his plate if he’s hungry.”

Sugar laughed at the audacity. “He’s got two legs. He can take care of himself.”

The moment those words left her lips she immediately regretted it as Georgette Hartwell looked at her as if she were contemplating murdering her firstborn daughter, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. She retrieved unopened bottle of beer from the fridge and bumped the door shut with her hip before offering it to Sugar. “Your man is thirsty. Now, swallow your pride, trot your behind out there, and give him what he needs. Go on, girl.”

Sugar eyed the bottle for a moment before she sighed heavily, taking the bottle and left the house, sauntering over to the grill.

“If it ain’t my sugarbear,” Calvin announced with a wide grin as he flipped some beef patties, hot flames swaying and licking through the charred grill rakes.

Sugar rolled her eyes at the cheesy childhood nickname, unable to fight back a smile.

“We were just talking about you,” Uncle Alfred admitted, which earned a round of chuckles from the four men.

Uh-oh.

She cocked her head, her smile tightening. “I hope it wasn’t too bad.”

Calvin patted Miles’ shoulder in a brotherly way. “Chef was wondering if you ever got spankings growing up.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the word spankings, her smile further tightening. “Is that so?”

“Mm hm,” Calvin hummed, nodding. “I told him that you only ever got one spanking. You were four years old and you loved playing on your grandmama’s piano. After Sally-Ann taught you ‘em first few notes of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, you played that over and over until Papa George couldn’t take it anymore and told you to stop and go play somewhere. You hopped off that piano bench and you were gonna do as you were told, but you had to play it one last time then you ran off like you stole something. He tore your hide up good. There was the first and last time somebody had to spank you.”

She made the mistake of glancing at Miles, witnessing his knowing smirk.

“Did your mama send you here,” Calvin wondered, changing the subject.

“Nope, I came on my own accord,” she lied.

Sully chuckled, shaking his head. “You need to work on your lyin’, Shug.”

Sugar smiled sweetly at her twin brother, batting her eyelashes.

“I’m just here to take care of,” she paused, stretching out, “my man.”

“At gunpoint,” Sully teased, jerking his head to Georgette who boldly stared from the kitchen window to make sure everything went down the way it was supposed to.

With her mother’s daggering gaze at her back, Sugar approached Miles, offering the bottle. “Thirsty, honey?”

“I’m quite alright on that end, darlin’,” Miles assured, his gray eyes glistened with subtle amusement.

“Well, let me know if you need anything, buttercup,” Sugar returned, curtsying. “I’m at your beck and call.”

Eyes snapped to the kitchen window where Georgette tapped aggressively on the glass as a warning to Sugar.

She left the men by the grill and made her death march towards the kitchen to get chewed out by her mother when she felt a warm calloused hand take ahold of hers. A protest died in her throat as she realized it was him. Without a single word, he led her to the grassy ‘dancefloor’. Her gave her a masterful twirl before he brought her back to him, their steps smooth and upbeat as Step in the Name of Love came on.

“You’re at my beck and call, huh,” Miles questioned, arching a dark eyebrow. “Is that offer expire when all this is over?”

“I’m afraid so,” she answered. He spun her around once more, but this time, she returned to him with her back against his chest. He placed his hands on her hips and brought his lips to her ear.

“No way of convincin’ you, huh?”

She bit her bottom lip as if it would halt her growing smile. “Then you’d be at my beck and call, don’t you think?”

He chuckled for a moment, the rich sound vibrating against her back.

“How’s my baby,” he then questioned, boldly sliding a hand to her flat stomach.

In a panic, she quickly positioned his hand back on her hip.

“Miles,” she protested in a hushed tone, tossing him a glance over her shoulder and saw him grin. “We talked about this already. Multiple times, in fact.”

The announcement of their little bundle would be made after the first trimester. She didn’t want this time to be like the other times. She didn’t want to rally up the hopes of anyone—not like the other times.

This time was different.

This time had to be different.

She needed this time to be different.

He bent down and kissed the side of her neck tenderly. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m just so damn excited.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut, moaning a little. She turned around to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they slowed their tempo against the grain of the song’s beat.

“I am too, Miles,” she admitted, but there was a stubborn piece of her that was hardened and cynical, but she tried to ignore that side as she kissed him softly on the lips.

“Get a room,” a younger cousin called from somewhere in the distance.

The kiss broke from their laughter from the interjection.

“I need to get back to the kitchen,” she said with an affectionate glaze coating her eyes, tilting her chin so she could get a good look at him—so he could see how she felt him.

“You were given a directive to take care of your man,” Miles reminded teasingly, “if I do recall.”

“I don’t always do as I’m told,” she returned, uncoiling her arms from his neck.

“Sounds like you need a spankin’ to set you straight,” he said. “Where’s Papa George when you need him?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to stop smiling. “Screw you, Miles.”

He gave her one more kiss before he finally let her go. “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long, honey.”

She turned to walk away, looking at him over her shoulder as she teased with a wink, “Then I’ll be sure to take my sweet time.”

He gave her ass a nice swat before she could leave, and he repeated, “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long.”

{}{}{}{}

Sugar closed her eyes and moaned her approval as she indulged in a forkful of her Auntie Della’s macaroni and cheese. After a long morning of doing too much, she finally had the opportunity to do nothing but eat. She sat at one of the picnic tables among her loved ones and the man she was falling in love with, enjoying the fruits of everyone’s hard labor.

It took everything in her not to scarf down her food even though she was terribly hungry. Through the day, she had snuck a bite or two whenever she could, which would have satisfied her until she could sit down and have a plate, but now that she was eating for two, sporadic nibbles of food would no longer be enough. It was a habit she would partake in one last time. This was quite evident to her as her stomach cramped and churned in hunger while her head swam with some lightheadedness for running around on an empty stomach. Miles had kept a steady eye on her as the day progressed but said nothing even though she had a feeling he knew what she had done. She knew she’d be in trouble with him later about it.

The chatter was lively as family shared old stories and caught up on each other’s daily lives. She slipped in and out of pockets of conversations with others around her.

Sitting not too far from her parents and Uncle Alfred, she heard her uncle say in a low tone but not low enough for her ears, “Rusty came by the house night.”

Calvin stopped chewing at the mention of Rusty, his relaxed posture quickly stiffened, and he straightened his shoulders. Georgette nearly choked on her iced tea and cleared her throat. Calvin resumed eating, pretending as if he didn’t hear his younger brother’s confession.

“You heard what I said, Cal?”

“I heard you just fine. I’m just choosing to ignore it,” Calvin returned before he sipped on beer.

Georgette smiled nervously. “Now’s not the time or place, Al. We’re trying to enjoy yourselves. We’ll talk about this later.”

Rusty was the nickname of Russell Hartwell, her father’s twin brother. Being the black sheep of the family, his bad life choices banned him from the flock nearly thirty-two years ago. The only thing she could remember of him was his warm smile and how he always bounced her on his knee when she was a little girl. Memories of him were few and vague, but they were kind ones. She couldn’t attest to whatever terrible thing made things fall apart between her father and his twin brother, but it was enough for Calvin to lift a hand to him. It was enough for Granny Sally-Ann to call the cops on her own brawling sons. It was enough to send him to prison. It was enough to put him down a road of booze, drugs, and crimes once he became a free man.

There were a few different versions of what went down that fated night.

Once she had heard the two fought over Rusty pawning off a family heirloom to fuel his new drug addiction. There was another tale that suggested that drugged-up Rusty laid a hand on Granny Sally-Ann when she tried to help her son get better. Or the story that Calvin and Rusty fought over uneven sliced pie of their inheritance left by then-newly-deceased Papa George. She was never quite sure which one was the truth and didn’t have the courage to ask her father about the painful topic of what drove him to disowning his own twin brother.

“You alright, honey,” Miles asked.

Sugar broke her attention away from that odd-placed conversation and looked at him.

“Mm hm,” she hummed with a weak smile, stealing one final glance at her father before she went back to eating.

The hours dwindled by and soon enough, it was nighttime. With an impressive stockpile of fireworks, everyone settled down and watched as a few of first-cousins put on a show. The sharp whistle of a shooting rocket. The explosion of colorful sparks up high rousing cheers, laughs, and claps. The distinct burning scent of fireworks made Sugar feel nauseous, so Miles lead her into the shadowy kitchen.

“Now, I got you to myself,” he replied, sounding pleased and relieved by the prospect.

“And what are you gonna do with me,” she asked.

“I had a lecture planned about not eatin’ like you should, but I’ll let it slide this one time,” he said. “Next time, it’s gonna be war between us.”

She gave him a mock military salute. “Sir, yes, sir. Now, that’s settled. I want to show you something.”

She wanted to show him a part of her past she rarely showed others.

Sugar then took ahold of his hand, guiding him from the kitchen and leading him up the stairs. As they neared the top, she heard her parents’ voices come from their ajar bedroom door.

“Cal, this has gone on long enough,” Georgette snapped. “We have to—”

Calvin quickly cut his wife off. “We don’t have to do anything, Georgette. We’ve been fine for over thirty years and we’ll be fine for thirty more. That motherfucker has hurt our family enough, but we’ve made it through and that’s all that matters.”

“That’s not how it works, Calvin. Now, you’re just being plain prideful,” she shot back. “Everything’s not fine and you know it. Calvin? Calvin! Where are you going?”

Heavy footsteps neared the ajar door and Sugar nearly jumped out of her skin as her father swung the door open and tossed over his shoulder, “I’m done talking about this bullshit, Georgette. I’m going downstairs to enjoy my family. You can join my side as my wife or dwell on the past. That’s up to you.”

As he stormed out of the bedroom he shared with his wife of forty years, he halted in his steps as Sugar and Miles arrived on the second floor.

“Calvin, stop running away from me—from this,” Georgette huffed angrily, trailing after her husband’s footsteps.

Her mother’s voice quickly mutated into something softer and sweeter the moment she realized they had company. “Why are you two running away from all the fun outside?”

“I just wanted to show Miles my old room,” Sugar admitted, shifting her gaze between her parents. “Are we…interrupting something?”

Calvin and Georgette glanced at each other before her father said with a cheesy grin and a wink, “You know how marriage works, sugarbear. A little lovers’ quarrel every now and then keeps you on your toes.”

Then he offered his arm to his wife, which she politely accepted.

“Be good you two,” Georgette teased before they made their descent.

Sugar and Miles shot each other glances.

“That was weird,” she mouthed to him before they resumed their journey to her childhood bedroom.

Turning on the light revealed an English rose-themed bedroom of soft greens, rosy pinks, and crisp white. A canopy bed with frilly beddings took up much of the room, a chest rested at the foot of the bed, a vanity was on the opposite side of the room, three bookcases were lined along the wall filled with piano songbooks, trophies, ribbons, and framed pictures of a young Sugar.

She went to a particular bookcase and retrieved a ruffly pink photo album. “I saw a picture of you when you were little. Now, you should see how I looked when I was little.”

They both sat down on the bed and she handed it to him.

A slight smile eased across his lips as he cracked open the album. The very first picture was a young Calvin and Georgette cradling their swaddled newborn twins at the hospital. He turned the next page which focused a collection of pictures on six-month-olds plump-cheeked Sully and Sugar dressed in matching sailor outfits.

“Your brother has been very consistent with this emotional range for thirty-eight years. That’s dedication,” Miles teased, noting how stoic her twin brother looked in the picture compared to a bright-eyed giggly coco-puffed Sugar in mid-clap who sat beside him.  

She tossed her head back and laughed. “He was an old soul who didn’t want to be reincarnated.”

As he ventured deeper through the photo album, she told him little stories and introduced younger versions of the oldheads in the pictures. In one photo, a three-year-old Sugar is kissing a grinning man on the cheek who had a strikingly similar face to her father, but his nose a little narrower and his face was leaner.

“That’s Uncle Rusty, my father’s twin brother,” she pointed out.

Miles arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “I didn’t know Cal had a twin brother.”

Sugar nodded, clearing her throat as she thought about the conversation that took place between her parents and Uncle Alfred. “They aren’t on speaking terms.”

“So, twins run in your family, huh,” he questioned, a pleased thought flashing across his handsome bearded face. “So, there’s a possibility that our little family of three might in fact be four or five or—”

Her eyes bulged at the prospect of having twins or triplets.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Miles Thibodeau,” she said.

He leaned in, giving her a peck on the lips. “I enjoy thinkin’ ahead when it comes to us. Like startin’ tomorrow we’re gonna start packin’ your things and movin’ them to my house.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

Moving was an excruciating process she was not looking forward to...even if she was very much interested in witnessing a shirtless sweaty Miles moving her things.

“You’re movin’ with me,” he reminded with a sexy grin, landing another peck then another and another, repeating that she was to move in with him in the tone of a playful growl. She laughed in between his kisses, allowing him to bring her down onto the bed before he slithered his tongue into her mouth for a more savoring one.

Her muffled giggling died in her throat, immediately replaced with a pleasant moan.

If this was what her life was destined to be then—like her father—she didn’t want to dwell in the painful past either.