Kids were everywhere — mine, my nieces and nephews, the neighbors’ kids — sprinting across the grass with water guns and bubble wands. Somebody’s Bluetooth speaker had migrated to the steps, playing old school R&B loud enough for my daddy to hum along. Smoke curled lazy from the grill, wrapping the whole yard in the smell of hickory, seasoning, and heat.
I hadn’t really believed Ahmir when he’d said, “Let me handle it.” I should’ve known better. He’d shown up two hours early with a truck, not a trunk full of groceries, coolers, extra folding chairs, even a pop-up tent “in case your mama decides she’s too delicate for the sun.”
“You went overboard,” I said, standing on the porch as he and my brother wrestled the grill into place.
He glanced up, sunglasses low on his nose, white T-shirt s
