“Well,” I say, seeing as they’re both chewing and I finally have a chance to talk, “hi to you too. And Princeton isn’t my first choice.”
“Why not?” Stephanie asks, flinging some of her box braids over her shoulder. Nothing and nobody ever gets between her and a good meal, not even her own hair. “And why waste the money on the application if you don’t care?”
“Icare. It’s not my first choice, but it would still be cool to see if I get accepted. I think it’s important to reach for something. You didn’t have any reach schools?”
“I didn’t see it as reaching so much as me applying to the places I belong,” Stephanie admits. “This idea of reaching is stupid, no offense coz. But if you truly believed that’s where you’re supposed to be, then it wouldn’t feel like a reach. And that mindset—that maybe you’re not worthy—is the reason you’re not going to get in—”
“Shut up, why you gotta bring the whole vibe down. This is supposed to be a cookout,” Jeremiah whines.
Stephanie rolls her eyes, her gaze landing on me as she starts to crack up.
“You really gonna do me like dat, Clarity?” Jeremiah asks when I start to laugh at him with her.
“Anybody who doesn’t know they should touch up their fadeand clean that hairline for their grandma’s birthday is someone Imma dolike dat.”
“Ayyyyyeee,” Stephanie says, tapping her feet on the ground. “She called youout.”
“Hey, hey, now. I was busy, okay? No disrespect tothe matriarch,” Jeremiah says, imitating my dad’s prayer voice at the end.
“I’m sure she’s just happy you’re here,” I say.
“Heck, I’m happy tobehere,” he says, leaning forward and picking up his fork. He digs into the potato salad, chewing for a few seconds before talking with his mouth full. “This is the sh—”
“Thewhat, Jeremiah Jones?” Momma asks, coming up behind him. I didn’t even see her come back this way.
“This is the good stuff, Momma,” he says, fighting to chew the rest of his food.
“That’s right,” she says, weaving her fingers into some of the curls on top of his head. “When’s the last time you greased your scalp? Didn’t I teach you better than this?”
Stephanie and I look at each other, just about ready to burst.
We soon fall silent, chewing our food. The brown sugar in the baked beans is heavenly, and Dad’s beef burgers with his homemade mayo are juicy to perfection.
Stephanie unlocks her phone and starts scrolling through Instagram. I know looking probably counts as eavesdropping, but her phone is face up on the table without any kind of screen guard.
The first picture she stops to look at is one of some girls dressed in red for a Temple football game. I’m guessing they’reher friends, because she likes the picture and types out a comment I can’t read.
“How’s Temple?” I ask.
Steph doesn’t look up from her phone but nods in acknowledgment while she finishes chewing.
“It’s cool. Gentrified AF, but nice. I get to see a lot of Philly.”
“Is there really a place called the Gayborhood there?” I ask, quickly shoving a huge spoonful of sesame-glazed haricots verts into my mouth.
Stephanie glances up from her phone, her brows set in a hard line that makes me nearly choke on my food. Was that too forward?
“What do you know about the Gayborhood?” she asks, blinking at me. Her fork is poised over her collard greens. She makes no move to spear any more food, which means I have her most absolute undivided attention.
Is it really so out of pocket for me to talk about anything gay?
“I, uh, saw something on the news about it,” I say, reaching for my burger to occupy my hands.
Stephanie glances at Jeremiah, who is diligently splitting his attention between his phone and his food.
“It’s a real place,” she tells me, stabbing at her greens. “There are rainbow crosswalks and street signs, gay bars and shops—some of the best bars in that part of the city to be honest.”
“Have you been?” I ask, keeping my tone light. As much as I want to keep my eyes glued to her face, to read her reactions line by line, I pretend to care about scooping up a spoonful of baked beans so that I appear casual.