Andre padded down the stairs of his mom’s row house. He yawned and followed his nose to the kitchen, where Keisha had brewed a pot of coffee. Working the busy bar during the busy pop-up followed by the late night pressed against Trixie’s body had worn him out.
“I can’t believe you slept in,” Keisha said from the kitchen table. Textbooks and papers surrounded her. “What time did you get home last night?”
“Late.” He fumbled with his I ♥ NOLA coffee mug and filled it to the top with coffee.
“Late, doing what?” Keisha raised an eyebrow. “Most of the cleaning was already done when I left.”
“The bar was really messy last night.” He squinted at his coffee before taking a sip. “I had lots of glasses to clean.”
“Oh.” Keisha’s face fell.
“What did you think was gonna happen?” Andre avoided her eyes and put two slices of bread into the toaster. He wasn’t surprised that she wanted to play matchmaker for him and Trixie. If he told her about Trixie right now, Keisha would declare her success and never let him forget it. Nope. Getting back with Trixie was his plan alone.
“Nothing.” Disappointment flashed over Keisha’s face, but she covered it with a small smile. “I forgot to tell you. Your etouffee and scorched rice was a hit last night!”
“Really?” With everything that happened last night, he’d forgotten about the new dish. “What did people say about it?”
“Once I explained what it was and how to eat it, they loved it. People liked the crispiness of the rice mixed with the rich etouffee.”
“Well, damn.” Andre couldn’t believe it. “Did they think it was too hard to eat? Or wasn’t authentic?”
“Andre, I said they loved it.” She shook her head at him. “In fact, we ran out of it before anything else.”
“Okay, cool.” He rubbed the back of his head. The last twenty-four hours had been, well, a lot. He’d volunteered as a guinea pig for massage oil. He and Trixie were on their way to making up. And his new dish was a hit.
“I think we should add it to the menu.” Keisha’s eyes shone in the way they did when she had a new idea. “I mean, we already serve it with rice, but now we just burn it a little.”
“Maybe. Let’s not get too excited. It’s just one pop-up. Let’s see how it sells during regular meal service.” Andre was thrilled, but Trixie’s family had inspired the unconventional pairing. He couldn’t add it to the menu without telling her.
“People will love it.” She turned back to her notes. “I hate accounting. Why do I have to learn all this manual stuff when there are computers that do all the work for me?”
“I’m sure your professor has a reason.” Andre didn’t really know. He didn’t go to college and all the accounting he knew he’d taught himself via internet searches and YouTube videos. “You’re welcome to take over and automate our bookkeeping when you graduate.”
Keisha rolled her eyes. “You just want to pawn off work you don’t like onto me.”
“Maybe.” He held back a laugh. She wasn’t wrong.
The toast popped up, and he slathered each piece with homemade peach jam. Mrs. Harris made a huge batch every year and gifted the entire neighborhood with jars of it. It was the best peach jam he’d ever tasted—outside of his mom’s. Not that he’d ever tell Mrs. Harris.
“Can I talk to you about something?” Keisha pointed at the chair next to hers.
He sat down with his coffee and toast. “Look, I told you once you graduate, you can help—”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Keisha interrupted. She drummed her fingers nervously on her notebook. “Promise me you won’t get mad.”
That didn’t sound good. His brain raced. Did something terrible happen? Was she sick? He took a deep breath.
“I promise.” No matter what happened, he’d take care of Keisha.
“I want to quit school and help out at the restaurant full time,” his sister blurted.
“What!” He set his coffee mug down so hard that coffee splashed onto her notes. Andre grabbed a towel and dabbed furiously at her papers. “Sorry I ruined your accounting notes.”
“See, if I didn’t have to learn how to do this on paper, I could have pulled out my backup from the cloud.” She pressed her lips together when he didn’t respond to her joke.
“You’re halfway through your bachelor’s program. Why quit now?” He forced himself to take a bite of his toast. Chewed slowly so he could figure out how to convince Keisha to stay in school.
“You need help at the restaurant.”
He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand.
“Let me finish. We can’t afford to hire any more staff. I can work full time in the restaurant and be your apprentice during off hours. I know enough accounting to do books for Mama Hazel’s.” She chuckled nervously.
“I thought you liked school.”
“I don’t hate it. Mama was right that an education is important, but tuition is expensive. Next semester I’m supposed to take on more classes. We can’t cover tuition and hiring someone to take my place while I’m in class during the day.”
“I told you I would figure things out.” His jaw clenched. Why didn’t she believe him? As her big brother, he’d take care of her no matter what. “I’m considering closing the restaurants on Tuesdays and Wednesdays until things pick up. You can pick up your extra classes on those days.”
“Andre,” Keisha said softly and touched his hand. “I miss Mama, too. Working at the restaurant makes me feel closer to her, you know?”
He nodded as his chest tightened and his throat started to close. Andre took another bite of toast, trying to ignore the sadness that bloomed in his chest. Though it had been less than two years since she passed, grief snuck up on him when he least expected it.
“I’ve always wanted to put Mama’s recipes into a cookbook. Quitting will give me time to work on it. Please, Tre. I really want to do this.” Tears spilled out of her eyes.
Andre blinked quickly to rid the tears from his eyes. He’d do anything for Keisha, but this was her future. She wouldn’t make it far without a college degree. She’d just be stuck working as a waitress or bartender—like him. Mama wouldn’t want that for her.
“How about this? We’ve already paid for the fall semester. Finish it and register for the winter. If we can’t make our finances work to cover winter tuition, you can defer.” He took a deep breath. Maybe this would give Keisha more time to reconsider quitting. “You can pick up more shifts during winter break and help me out in the office. I promise it’s not as exciting as you think it’ll be.”
“You’re the best brother I’ve ever had!” Keisha kissed him on the cheek and hugged him.
“I’m your only brother.” He returned her hug. “I’d better finish getting ready. Those receipts will multiply if I leave them alone for one day.”
He left Keisha studying for her test and headed upstairs for a shower. Under the water, his brain tallied up all the things spiraling out of control. Mama’s medical bills, the low cash flow at Mama Hazel’s, the damned fryer on the fritz. Now Keisha wanted to quit school. While it seemed like a good idea right now, he knew it wasn’t what his mom wanted for her. At least one Walker kid should have a college degree.
He’d figure it out. Somehow. Everything would work out, and Mama Hazel’s would thrive with him at its helm. If the paperwork didn’t bury him first.
By the time he’d come downstairs, Keisha was gone. Study group, she’d texted him. The mid-September humidity hit him as soon as he stepped outside his home. Beads of sweat formed on his brow.
“Morning, Mrs. Harris,” he called across the street.
The heat and humidity didn’t seem to bother her. She spent most mornings on her porch knitting. She also knew everything that went on in their neighborhood.
“Leaving late today, aren’t you?” she replied, her knitting needles a blur of movement. “Noticed you didn’t get home till after midnight last night.”
Andre sighed. Mrs. Harris and his mom had been good friends, but it didn’t mean he cared for her nosy if well-meaning questions.
“We had a private event last night.” He crossed the street so he didn’t have to yell. “Left a huge mess, so it took me a while to clean up since Keisha needed to study for an exam.”
“Private parties, huh? Like our Monday dinners?”
“Something like that.” If Mrs. Harris knew what was going on at the restaurant, he’d never hear the end of it. And the entire neighborhood would know, too, in minutes. “Turns out there are white folks who are willing to pay good money for Mama’s food.”
“They should. She was a good cook. And she taught Luis well.” Her knitting needles paused.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Andre checked his phone. He had two hours before lunch service started. If he stood here any longer, she’d start up about the collard greens again.
“Everything she cooked was good. Except for her greens. She never did take my advice on the smoked turkey necks.”
Right on cue.
“I should get going, Mrs. Harris. I’m already running behind.” He held up his phone to show her the time. “Keisha told me Mr. Harris is still fighting a cold. I’ll send over some gumbo.”
“Thank you, dear. Don’t work too hard, Tre.”
“I go by Andre now, Mrs. Harris.” He was tired of asking her to call him that, but his childhood nickname grated even more. It reminded him too much of the immature kid who ran away from home.
“It’s not good to work all the time.” She ignored his request. The needles began moving again. “You need a woman in your life.”
“No time for that right now, Mrs. Harris.” Andre waved at her. “Have a good day.”
Great. On top of everything else, he had Mrs. Harris’s hawklike eyes to worry about.
After a brisk walk, he made it to the restaurant in time to prep for lunch service but not work in his office beforehand. Several people were standing by the front door. Maybe the pop-ups were bringing in customers already. Keisha was right about partnering with Trixie.
Once he came closer, he recognized Mr. Jackson, his landlord. He was chatting with two white folks in business suits. A brunette in a pantsuit and heels snapped photos of the building while a man in a dark gray suit and shiny black loafers took notes on his tablet. He seemed to be in charge.
“Afternoon, Mr. Jackson.” Andre offered his hand. The gray-haired man’s grip was surprisingly strong for someone in their early seventies. “What’s going on here?”
“I thought y’all didn’t open until lunch.” He looked back at the corporate types behind him and walked Andre to the side. “We’re almost done. I’ll be right back.”
Andre caught only a few words of the conversation, but there were plenty of smiles and nodding from everyone. Something about his landlord’s lawyer calling. Then dark-gray-suit guy handed a large yellow envelope to Mr. Jackson before he and his partner got into an SUV and drove off.
“What was that about?” Andre asked.
“Andre.” Mr. Jackson sighed and rubbed his bald head, which still held some patches of salt-and-pepper hair. “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way. I know Hazel helped make this neighborhood better, but—”
“Who were they?” Andre interrupted. His landlord took frequent visits down memory lane that involved plenty of meandering. Normally, he’d humor Mr. Jackson, but he was already late.
“They want to buy the building. As is.” He gestured to the cracked steps and worn bricks. “A generous offer. I can finally move to California and be near my son and grandkids.”
“What?!” Andre shook his head. “But what about the restaurant and the bookstore? And the hair salon?”
Like Mama Hazel’s, the bookstore had seen better days. There were probably more people browsing than actually buying books. He and Xavier spent many hot summer days enjoying the free air-conditioning there.
“I’m sorry, Andre. I can’t keep up anymore. This building needs fixing up, and I don’t have the money for it.”
“What are they going to do with it?” He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. Mama Hazel’s was just starting to do better. He needed more time.
“Either condos or office buildings.” Mr. Jackson shrugged. “Something that’ll bring more people to District Market.”
“You can’t do that! People depend on our family dinners. And the bookstore—where else can kids buy books for a dollar?”
“I’m seventy-four, Andre. I’m tired and I miss my son.”
The man he’d known since he was a kid had gotten old. Deep wrinkles etched his warm brown skin, while his posture had become more stooped. Everyone and everything around him kept changing. Pretty soon no one around would remember Mama.
He had to do something.
“How much did they offer you?” Andre blurted. “What if we”—he gestured to the other tenants—“bought you out?”
“I suppose that would be all right. I’d rather keep it in the family, so to speak.”
“Okay, let me talk to everyone. When do you need to tell the developers?”
“They’re drawing up the papers for my lawyer. A couple of weeks max.” Mr. Jackson put a hand on Andre’s shoulder. “I know things are tough right now. Make me a good offer and I promise to talk to my son about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two weeks was not enough time, but he had to try.