Chapter 28

Properly dressed and finally feeling ready, Lucky was immediately swept into the heart of the party.

Maverick stayed by her side as they mingled with guests. She began keeping tally every time she heard Maverick? Girlfriend? or some other variation with the same vibe. He apparently had a reputation as a perpetual bachelor and they’d all lost hope.

“Why do they all care so much that you were single for so long?” she whispered to him, after meeting the fourth auntie in a row.

“Because I have a kid. They’ve been after me for years to settle down for Rebel’s sake. They swear up and down she’s going to turn into a tomboy.”

“So what if she does? It’s her choice.”

“That’s what I said.” He grinned. “Never mind the fact that she gets mad anytime I even suggest she shouldn’t wear a dress.”

“Rebel knows who she is,” Lucky said, nodding. “She figured it out early.”

Maverick looked confused for a moment and then kissed her temple quickly. She didn’t miss his slightly strained smile or that it disappeared by the time he looked at her again.

“Hey.” Freddie appeared beside them, lightly punching Maverick in the shoulder. “They need help putting the food out.”

“Then go help them.”

“They asked for you. And her. Hey.” Freddie was Maverick’s height but larger. He had the breadth, stance, and energy of a linebacker. Fitting as he played football all his life until he graduated college with a degree in kinesiology. He recently transitioned to becoming the assistant coach at the same school.

“Hi.”

“I don’t know how you two met, but you’re too good for him. Run while you can.”

“I’m fine where I am.” She smiled sweetly, voice playfully firm. “Thank you, though.”

Freddie cocked a curious eyebrow, measuring her up and deciding his next move.

“Don’t try her,” Maverick warned. “She’s quick.”

Freddie considered it for a few more seconds before bowing out. “Kitchen,” he repeated as a parting.

“He’ll be back,” Maverick said as they walked. “Try not to stun him too bad.”

She laughed. “For you? I’ll consider it.”

The kitchen smelled wonderful—filled with the kinds of homemade food Lucky hadn’t eaten in years. Steaming rolls fresh out the oven, spicy collard greens, buttery corn cobs sprinkled with salt and pepper, proper potato salad, decadent macaroni and cheese, heavenly candied yams, and more.

She asked, “Is there spaghetti too?”

“Yeah,” Maverick said. “Pretty sure there is. Why?”

Lucky had to stop herself from drooling. She hoped this would happen. Every family was different with their own traditions and staple foods, but somehow most Black American families all followed the same cookout blueprint. She couldn’t wait to eat.

Mrs. Phillips instructed Maverick to start carrying the large aluminum pans wrapped in foil to the backyard. Silvia had been assigned to do the same and they walked out together.

“Lucky, here, please.” Mrs. Phillips waved her over. “How are you with cakes?”

“Um, fine?”

“That yellow one over there still needs to be frosted. Use the chocolate buttercream and knife next to it.”

Lucky washed her hands and got to work, smoothing a generous layer on top. She used an S-pattern like she’d been taught. Whenever her mom was in the mood to bake, it’d been Reggie’s job to pick the recipe and help with mixing, and Lucky’s job to decorate. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted, in any style, using any flavor, with extras like sprinkles and coconut shavings. They always had taste-testing parties after dinner, eating as much as they wanted.

It was easy to overlook those cherished good memories when they were tragically outnumbered by the bad. But they existed too. They happened.

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Phillips said when Lucky finished. “Carry it outside for me?”

Lucky did as requested, and spotted Maverick entertaining Rebel and the other kids. He was carrying a little girl with bright pink pom-poms around her pigtails on his back—he’d called her his Beanie Baby earlier. She suddenly understood and felt sorry for those suburban moms.

“Super Dad strikes again. He always makes it look so easy.” Georgia appeared out of nowhere, holding what smelled like a very strong drink in a red cup. “Being around him upsets my ovaries.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“A decent amount. This is my last one.” She bumped Lucky’s shoulder. “How are you doing? How’s your face? Any accidents?”

“Nope. Everyone’s been really nice.” She told her what Silvia said.

“Of course, he did that.” Georgia grinned. “Super Dad always has a plan.”

When Mr. Phillips announced it was time to eat, they all lined up to make their plates. The spread had been set up buffet-style and Lucky made two plates because that was all she could reasonably carry in one trip. She sat picnic-style with Maverick and the kids in a big cluster on the grass.

After demolishing her first serving, she went back for seconds and again for dessert. One of the uncles tried to be sly, saying to Maverick, “She’s sure got an appetite.”

Lucky answered, “Sure do!” loud and clear. She had every intention of eating until she couldn’t breathe, and no one was gonna shame her about it. By the time she finished, everyone else was watching all the grandkids open summer presents—another Phillips tradition.

Suddenly deserted, Lucky leaned her head against Maverick’s shoulder and sighed.

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Happy?”

“Very,” she said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Choosing to give up her family had also meant cutting herself off from large swaths of her culture. Traditions. Recipes. Family functions. The internet—reading posts and watching videos and laughing at inside jokes—helped fill some of the void but not all. Being with Maverick had the potential to give those things back to her.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He kissed the top of her forehead as a slight phantom summer wind blew through the backyard.

An unpleasant smell tickled the inside of Lucky’s nose. “Ugh.” She straightened up, scanning the party guests for the cause of the stench. Someone had a rotting core.

“What’s wrong?” Maverick asked.

Unlike Xander, who’d been able to embrace the grief that altered him, rot was the result of change attempting to destroy everything in its wake.

Lucky whipped off her glasses.

“What are you doing?” Maverick asked, alarmed.

“Wait wait wait give me a second.” She wouldn’t need to look at their eyes to find them. They were too far gone. She’d sense it—there. The stench intensified as she observed a short man wearing a black hat speaking with three other gentlemen off to the side. She scrunched her nose. “Who is that?”

“Uhh, one of my dad’s coworkers, I think? I’m not sure.”

“Remember how I told you people don’t really change? I was generalizing. That’s not entirely accurate. Significant events can change a person’s core.” She sniffed again—definitely him—made a face, and put her sunglasses back on. “He’s rotting. I can smell it.”

Maverick wordlessly stood up and held out his hand to help her. He guided her toward a secluded bench on the other side of the backyard. “Better?” He waved at the air in front of her face as if that would clear the smell.

She had no choice but to kiss him. “Yes, thank you,” she lied. As long as the man was near her, she’d smell it.

“Okay,” he said, nodding and rubbing the tops of her arms. “What did you mean by rotting?”

“Let me start at the beginning: changes to a core resemble tree rings or vinyl records. Each groove is pressed with recorded information.” She paused to make sure he was following. “Like I said, change comes from significant events. Unmanageable grief is a big one, same as childbirth or becoming a parent. And then, there are some things that can cause what I named rot. Because they’re rotting from the inside.”

Maverick’s expression was curiously neutral so…she kept explaining.

“I smell it while it’s happening. The rot spreads until their core decays, turns to dust, and then there’s nothing left to read. I’ll feel that a core used to be there, but that’s it,” she said. “Not all people like that are dangerous but all dangerous people are like that. I won’t know which one he is unless I read him while I still can.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’ll just keep you away from him. It’ll be fine.” That same strained smile from earlier reappeared again, making Lucky’s stomach drop. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Surprise,” she said with a weak smile. Maverick must not have wanted her to read that man because then he might have to tell his parents, and that’d require telling them the truth about his weird-ass girlfriend with ESP and ruining everything.

“Does anything else have a smell?” The tone he used was unfamiliar enough to make her frown. Not quite irritated or even frustrated, but everything wasn’t okay.

Lucky worried at her hands. “Sometimes intentions can. Depends on what they are. I think I can also smell Hennessee House.”

“The house? Specifically?” He seemed surprised. “Since when?”

“Since the beginning.” Lucky wasn’t sure if she should tell him more. It’d only been a few days since she realized it herself while making her daily self-tape and recapping Maverick’s visit. He seemed a bit shaken but asked, “It’s the peppermint, isn’t it?”

“I figured it out because you brought me coffee.” She nodded. “On my second day, while you talked to Rebel on the porch, I smelled cinnamon first—my favorite cinnamon latte was my initial scent, like how my perfume is yours. I really didn’t have a memory associated with peppermint until it accidentally gave me one.”

Maverick’s reluctance was written all over him—his tense jaw, furrowed brow, the concerned look in his eyes. He wanted to know but also desperately didn’t. “How did it do that?” He spoke quickly as if he were trying to bite back the sentence while it left him.

“I think the house lost the synesthesia battle.” Lucky kissed the tip of his nose to illustrate her point. She wished she had the ability to calm him, to cover and soothe his worries with her assuredness. Kisses would have to do. “When it tried to make me smell cinnamon the second time, my ability automatically kicked in. It recognized the house’s intentions and decided to classify it, but my brain couldn’t really handle them both being active at the same time. That’s why it hurt so bad—I overloaded.”

“Same as Eunice.” Remembrance sparked behind his eyes. Lucky had overloaded twice. Her reaction during the readings had been substantially worse, but both were symptoms of the same root cause—she was clashing with Hennessee too.

“But it’s different for me—listen,” she said quickly. “Exhaust fumes means rot. Spoiled meat means dangerous. Sawdust means harmless. Peppermint means Hennessee is up to something.” She smiled, wistful and overjoyed to share her discoveries with someone she trusted. “I think that also explains why I haven’t smelled cinnamon again. I can’t anymore. My ability overpowers it every time. Interacting with the house is making me stronger.”

That admission had officially stressed Maverick the hell out. He opened his mouth, silently closed it, and shook his head. At a complete loss for words, he stared at the ground with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Her feeble apology seemed to snap him out of it. He exhaled and took her hand as they sat down on the bench. She angled her body toward him, ready to listen to whatever he had to say. Because something was definitely coming. She braced herself for the worst, hoped for the best, and prayed she didn’t ruin the day by being too weird.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for who you are. Not with me,” he said with sincerity. “It’s just I, uh, put some precautions in place for today.”

“I heard.”

He laughed lightly, then looked at her. “But this isn’t something you can turn off for a day to relax. It’s never going to be ‘just work’ for you. You can’t clock out or quit or walk away. It’s a part of your life, all the time, forever.”

He spoke to her but she sensed the words were for himself. He was trying—she could see him trying to accept it. Her.

“As far as I know.” She shrugged, biting her lip. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He nodded, squeezing her hand. “Why did you decide to read and translate for Silvia?”

“I was sad.”

“Does reading people make you feel better?”

“No, but being myself does,” she said. “I’ve never liked hiding who I am. I did it—I do it because I always think I have to. I didn’t want to meet your family stuck in that mindset. It was important to me to not be that way for once.”

“And I was trying to do the opposite. You seemed nervous about meeting my parents. I didn’t want you to have to worry about anything.” He opened his arms, gesturing for her to come to him. “We really should’ve talked about this beforehand.”

“Lesson learned.” She fell into him, holding on as tightly as she could. His scent pierced through the rot, precise and clean, overtaking and then blocking it.

“I fully support you being yourself at all times, but you should know you freaked Silvia out. Her reaction was a lot like Georgia’s when you translated for Rebel except funnier,” he said. “I told her you’re open to questions. I’m sure she’ll talk to you soon.”

“She loves you.”

“I know. She also talks too much.”

Lucky wished there was a way to stay inside this moment Maverick made for them, but she knew they wouldn’t be alone for long. She kissed him as if they’d never be interrupted anyway—both insistent and languid until time meant nothing.

They thankfully heard Rebel before they saw her.

“Dad, why are you all the way back here?” Rebel and Beanie approached the bench. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Maverick and Lucky had separated, but still sat close together. “Sorry. We needed a minute to talk about something important. What’s up?”

Annoyed Rebel was quite the sight. She glared at him, standing closer to Lucky as if she’d be expected to choose a side.

“Uncle Maverick?” Beanie chewed on her ragged cuticles.

Maverick gently guided her to stop, holding her hands. “Yes, my Beanie Baby.”

She giggled. “Can Rebel stay at my house tonight? My dad will say yes.”

“Do you want to do that?”

Rebel nodded. “Jinx wants to sleep over too.”

“Ah, so it’s a slumber party,” he said. “Where’s Uncle Max?”

“I’ll go get him.” Beanie ran off with Rebel following.

“That’s nice.” Lucky asked, “Does that happen often?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “I think they made a plan. They’re trying to trick one of us into saying yes to use as proof that it’s okay, so we’ll all say yes. Notice how Rebel said Jinx wants to sleep over, not that she is.”

“And ‘my dad will say yes.’ Genius—not a single lie in sight.”

“They’re very good, but I’m better.” He smirked. “I’m actually really happy they all get along so well. I love it.”

Silvia said Maverick stopped coming around them, long enough for it to have a significant impact on her. He must’ve kept Rebel away too—she was only a year older than Beanie.

“Silvia told me you moved out and didn’t come back for a while. Why did you leave them?”

“My parents. I got tired of being criticized all the time. Nothing I did was good enough for them,” he said. “So, I packed my stuff, took my baby with me, and left.”

“But you went back.”

“I don’t think I planned to stay away forever. I didn’t have much of a plan at all, to be honest.”

Five hundred dollars. He’d said he started writing because he needed a second job that wouldn’t force him to sacrifice spending time with Rebel. His family obviously had money and loved him. If he asked, they would’ve helped—with strings attached. That must’ve been so hard on him. She wanted to ask what happened to Rebecca but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Max arrived, looking very much like Maverick’s double except noticeably older. His hair had begun to go gray at the temples and in his full beard. “You need me to watch Rebel for the night?”

“No, they’re trying to have a slumber party. You’re the dad of choice.”

“It’s ’cause of the dog.” He turned to Lucky. “I got my kids a puppy for their birthday. They’re obsessed with it.” Beanie and Jeremy were his fraternal nine-year-old twins.

Maverick added, “Rebel was distraught for a week that I wouldn’t get her a pet too.”

“I’m fine with it if you are,” Max said. “Pick her up around eleven tomorrow? Will that work?”

“Fine with me. Thanks, man.”

Once they were alone again, Lucky traced a delicate line down Maverick’s neck to the middle of his back. She kissed his shoulder before resting her chin on it.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to have a slumber party too? I had a sudden opening in my schedule tonight.”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to.”

They held each other’s gaze.

“I don’t think so either.”

His hand tightened on her knee—an interesting contrast to the small, delicate circles his thumb made on her thigh. She closed the distance between them with a quick kiss.

“Will you come to Hennessee?”

His eyes tightened in discomfort. “I can’t sleep there.”

She felt like she needed a break. To reset her priorities and get back in tune with her objectives. One night away wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Can we stop at the store before we go to your place?”