dreaming about him. She’d never dreamt of Charles, in fact had never before had an erotic dream that she could remember. But her memories from their phantasm encounter had her longing to see the real thing.
“Aunt DeeDee!” a trio sang out.
“C’mon, Aunt DeeDee, we’re hungry!” Antoine whined.
“Hurry up, Aunt DeeDee!” Tonia demanded.
“Can I help you cook?” Kayla asked as soon as D’Andra opened the door.
D’Andra and company whipped up a semi-healthy brunch of blueberry pancakes (with flaxseed added to aid in digestion), egg-white omelets (which everyone complained about yet ate), and turkey bacon. Mary offered a rare compliment, saying she was surprised at how good the eggs were without the yokes.
“That’s where all the bad cholesterol is,” D’Andra explained.
“Well, I like my eggs yellow,” Cassandra added.
“Well, next time you can make ’em that way,” D’Andra retorted.
Cassandra looked at D’Andra surprised. Her sister was starting to let fewer and fewer of her barbs go un-contested.
“I’ll do the dishes, Dee,” she said, to everyone’s surprise. “What? Like I don’t clean?”
“No!” was the unanimous answer.
Forty-five minutes later, D’Andra and the kids were at Dockweiler Beach, a long glorious stretch of ocean in Playa del Rey. They’d gathered an array of beach accessories: umbrella, blankets, beach chairs, arm floats, beach balls, sunblock, shovels and pails. D’Andra carried a bag filled with bottled water and low sodium snacks. She also had a mini first-aid kit, just in case. And in a move that would have made Johnnie Cochran proud, she’d chanted a verse in hip-hop fashion while they were en route that Tonia was bossily reminding Antoine of as he ran down the slope.
“Antoine, get back here! If you want to stay, you must obey!”
D’Andra hid her grin and chided both the twins. “Tonia, I’m the boss around here. Antoine, bring your little skinny butt back up here until we’re ready to go down.”
They found a spot away from the diverse Sunday crowd, the loud music and the Frisbee throwers and set up camp. Kayla helped D’Andra spread out the blanket and put up the umbrella, even after she’d told her little helper to run and play.
She handed Kayla a bucket and one of the shovels. “Go find some shells to put in the fish tank.”
“What fish tank, Aunt Dee?”
The one that’s going in my new place when I move. “I’m thinking about buying one. You can help me decorate it with the shells you find.”
D’Andra positioned her chair to be shielded from the sun. It was unusually hot for early February, which explained the dense crowd. She remembered how Chanelle’s cousin from Michigan always teased them when she came to visit.
“Y’all get on my nerves,” she’d say whenever one of them complained about rain or a fifty-degree chill. “Come to Detroit, handle ice and snow, and then talk to me about cold weather.”
Chanelle’s cousin was right; Californians were spoiled. It had rained for probably five whole minutes the two days prior. The way people were soaking up the sun you’d think they just endured Jack Frost.
D’Andra reached into her beach bag and pulled out the reading material she’d brought to occupy her while the kids ran around. The book’s title, Love Like Hallelujah , had caught her eye as she passed by the book section on her way to the DVDs in Wal-Mart. D’Andra bought the book because she hoped to have a love like that.
She pulled out a bottled water, reclined her chair and opened the novel. Before she’d finished the first chapter she was in love with one of the main characters, Cy Taylor, who fit the description of the man of her dreams. In the book’s beginning, he was in love with his fiancée and shopping in Victoria’s Secret for her honeymoon surprise.
D’Andra hoped men like Cy came in fact as well as fiction. Still, it did a sistah good to dream. As long as it was about somebody fictitious
“Aunt DeeDee!” a trio sang out.
“C’mon, Aunt DeeDee, we’re hungry!” Antoine whined.
“Hurry up, Aunt DeeDee!” Tonia demanded.
“Can I help you cook?” Kayla asked as soon as D’Andra opened the door.
D’Andra and company whipped up a semi-healthy brunch of blueberry pancakes (with flaxseed added to aid in digestion), egg-white omelets (which everyone complained about yet ate), and turkey bacon. Mary offered a rare compliment, saying she was surprised at how good the eggs were without the yokes.
“That’s where all the bad cholesterol is,” D’Andra explained.
“Well, I like my eggs yellow,” Cassandra added.
“Well, next time you can make ’em that way,” D’Andra retorted.
Cassandra looked at D’Andra surprised. Her sister was starting to let fewer and fewer of her barbs go un-contested.
“I’ll do the dishes, Dee,” she said, to everyone’s surprise. “What? Like I don’t clean?”
“No!” was the unanimous answer.
Forty-five minutes later, D’Andra and the kids were at Dockweiler Beach, a long glorious stretch of ocean in Playa del Rey. They’d gathered an array of beach accessories: umbrella, blankets, beach chairs, arm floats, beach balls, sunblock, shovels and pails. D’Andra carried a bag filled with bottled water and low sodium snacks. She also had a mini first-aid kit, just in case. And in a move that would have made Johnnie Cochran proud, she’d chanted a verse in hip-hop fashion while they were en route that Tonia was bossily reminding Antoine of as he ran down the slope.
“Antoine, get back here! If you want to stay, you must obey!”
D’Andra hid her grin and chided both the twins. “Tonia, I’m the boss around here. Antoine, bring your little skinny butt back up here until we’re ready to go down.”
They found a spot away from the diverse Sunday crowd, the loud music and the Frisbee throwers and set up camp. Kayla helped D’Andra spread out the blanket and put up the umbrella, even after she’d told her little helper to run and play.
She handed Kayla a bucket and one of the shovels. “Go find some shells to put in the fish tank.”
“What fish tank, Aunt Dee?”
The one that’s going in my new place when I move. “I’m thinking about buying one. You can help me decorate it with the shells you find.”
D’Andra positioned her chair to be shielded from the sun. It was unusually hot for early February, which explained the dense crowd. She remembered how Chanelle’s cousin from Michigan always teased them when she came to visit.
“Y’all get on my nerves,” she’d say whenever one of them complained about rain or a fifty-degree chill. “Come to Detroit, handle ice and snow, and then talk to me about cold weather.”
Chanelle’s cousin was right; Californians were spoiled. It had rained for probably five whole minutes the two days prior. The way people were soaking up the sun you’d think they just endured Jack Frost.
D’Andra reached into her beach bag and pulled out the reading material she’d brought to occupy her while the kids ran around. The book’s title, Love Like Hallelujah , had caught her eye as she passed by the book section on her way to the DVDs in Wal-Mart. D’Andra bought the book because she hoped to have a love like that.
She pulled out a bottled water, reclined her chair and opened the novel. Before she’d finished the first chapter she was in love with one of the main characters, Cy Taylor, who fit the description of the man of her dreams. In the book’s beginning, he was in love with his fiancée and shopping in Victoria’s Secret for her honeymoon surprise.
D’Andra hoped men like Cy came in fact as well as fiction. Still, it did a sistah good to dream. As long as it was about somebody fictitious
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