"Wassup.... Stop actin' lightskin."
The third straight minute of N'Jadaka just looking at you has you bashfully reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck again. You don't know how long you've been hugging him or how long his arms have been wrapped low around your waist but all you know is that he smells good and he looks good on this sunny April afternoon.
You're willing to ignore the 'acting lightskin' comment if it's to let him keep rubbing his hands up and down your back in front of all these girls who are probably fuming. But then he pats your butt and you have to remind him you're in front of some family members.
"Stop," you playfully whisper into his shoulder, but he only grabs you tighter, kissing you a couple times on the neck before trying to get you on the lips. "Aren't you hungry or something?"
He goes, "Hell yeah," before trying to grab you again but you're quick enough to dodge around the car and toward the front porch of your parents' house. The front door is unlocked, as always during cookouts, so you waltz right in with N'Jadaka hot on your heels.
The inside of the house is filled with the smell of food cooking and it's so nostalgic that it makes you smile a little on your way to the kitchen. Your mother and a few cousins are inside, and they all stop and stare at you as you approach.
Your mom speaks first, nodding to the man behind you. "Hello, Erik."
When you glance behind you to see how he'll react, you suppose you're fine with the way he nods and flashes that faux-amicable smile that he's so good at using. He's a great actor, all things considered, but he'll get used to your parents soon enough. Especially your father, and you tense a bit as he comes in from the back patio.
You don't even give him the chance to say anything, cutting the tension in the air with, "Do you need me to go get anything?"
Shaking her head, your mom goes, "No, fool. Go sit down somewhere; walkin' around here like your granddad. Erik, you hungry?"
You peer up at him again to watch him say, "Nah, not really."
"Yes you are," she says. "Don't be all shy now, nigga, she about to pop out ya kid-"
"MA," you shout as your cousins burst out laughing. She shrugs at you and takes another sip of the wine cooler that definitely isn't her first. She doesn't really change much when she drinks but you've noticed years ago that she's more than willing to turn that filter off she keeps in her brain.
This entire exchange, your father hasn't said much of anything, just collecting aluminum foil to cover the freshly grilled chicken that has your mouth watering. The pan will go with all the others; stationed in a line on the tables on the patio like it always is. People are starting to come over, too, because everyone on the block knows that your family (save for Rashida) has good ass food that's worth skipping over the others.
You turn to N'Jadaka, tapping him on the chest with your fist.
"Do you want a plate?"
"To go," he says.
"You leaving?"
"We leavin'."
Just as you open your mouth to whine about having to leave your favorite thing about the warm weather, he shushes you with a flippant hand wave as he gazes down at you through his expensive shades.
"You'll be back," he says. "We takin' a ride."
The two of you bicker back and forth quietly about this, ignoring the noise and chatter in the kitchen, but ultimately N'Jadaka wins in the end. He tells you not to get green juice on his macaroni and when you tell him he'll get whatever you put on the damn plate he scoffs at you before giving you an attitude-fueled peck on the lips.
