"Okay. Be right back."
While she was gone, he called Mrs. Bannister. She hadn't even noticed he wasn't back yet, which wasn't surprising. Afterward, he took out the tea ball and decided to call his parents. His mother answered, and he fell apart.
"Sonny? Sweetheart? Prescott, get on the extension. Obadiah needs us."
"Son? What's wrong?" His father's deep voice cut through his misery.
Snuffling, he pulled himself together, explaining what had happened.
"So, the wench dumped you. I hope you got the keys back to your house," his father growled.
"She never had keys, Dad."
"Good. I know you thought you loved her, but I never liked her."
Obi snorted, sniffling again. "Yes, but thank you for not saying it until now."
"I'm so sorry this happened," his mother added softly. "It's going to be all right."
"Do you want me to call Toomy?" his father offered.
Toomy was his uncle, Thomas. He lived just outside the city in a golf course community.
"I can call him," Obi sniffled again. "I hadn't thought of it, but that's a good idea."
"I'll call," his father decided. "He'll kick some sense into you."
A barking laugh escaped Obi. "He should have done that before I took up with that tart."
"Probably so, but it's too late for that now. I'll call Toomy. You call your brothers. If you can't rely on them at a time like this, why did we bother raising them to manhood?"
Obi laughed again, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Why, indeed? Oh, I need you to add a couple names to your prayer list, please."
"Sure. Shoot."
"Wynter Whitley, and her mother, Wanda. Wynter's going through some stuff—similar to mine. Her mom is very sick, and needs healing."
"Done and done. How would you like company this weekend?"
"Wait. What?"
"Mother and I were planning a trip to take in the sights—art museum, maybe grab a show."
"Are you sure you're not doing this because you think I need cheering up?"
"A little, but we really were planning it, weren't we, Hester?"
"Yes, we were. We just hadn't firmed up a date."
"I'd love to have you visit. You can stay at the house with me. We'll get the boys over, and have a big cookout."
"Fabulous," his mother said with a happy sigh. "I'll start planning meals."
"Mom, that can wait—"
"Nonsense. I'll get a menu planned, and we'll go shopping when I get there."
"If you send me a list, I can order online and have them deliver."
"I like to shop for myself."
"Whatever you want, Mom. I love you guys a lot."
"We love you too, darling. We'll see you Friday night."
"Great. I look forward to it."
"I'll call Toomy right now," his father concluded, hanging up.
"Goodbye, darling. It's going to be all right."
"Thanks, Mom. Bye." Hardly able to control his tears, he hung up.
Wynter was standing in the doorway, quietly waiting. "Thank you for adding us to their prayer list, too."
"You're welcome. I've never seen anyone get the results my folks do. It's like they have a direct line to God. I often wish I had the faith and devotion my parents have. Their convictions are so strong. I'm not half the man my father is. Sometimes, I feel as if I'm cheating my flock...."
"Don't you dare say that!" she advanced angrily, taking his shirt in her hands. "You've given so much to me today. A complete stranger. I'm a wreck, with no job, no car—nothing to my name. My mother's sick, my life's a mess, and yet you're here with me. You've taken such good care of me, and I'm so grateful. Don't you dare say you're cheating anyone. You're the finest man I know." She burst into tears again.
Holding her close, he let his own tears flow. He rarely ever cried. But it was all right, because he was with Wynter, and she didn't care. Wiping her eyes again, she checked the tea.
"Sit. Did you find cookies?"
"I forgot to look. I called my folks, and—I can't believe I'm crying so much. I never do."
"You should. Men get this idea that they have to be tough and stoic, and not cry. God gave you tear ducts, use them!" She found a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints in the cupboard, and opened them. Pouring some into a bowl, she set them on the table with tea mugs, cream and sugar. "Would you prefer lemon?"
"No. Milk and sugar is fine." He waited to sit until she was settled.
The next few minutes were taken up by them stirring cream and sugar into their tea. Obi took his first sip, closing his eyes as he swallowed.
"Oh, that's good. I'm not much of a tea drinker, but I like that."
"Mom blends her own. She's very picky about how it's prepared, so she's taught me well. You won't find coffee in her house, though. She hates it."
"Good to know. I don't know that I have any tea at all. Coffee's my addiction."
"Some people smoke crack—" she laughed.
"So they do. Not a vice I picked up. I smoked cigarettes for a while, but gave that up."
"Drink?"
"Sometimes. I love a good Vodka Sour. Not much for beer." He shrugged.
"You said you were hungover, was that one too many Vodka Sours?"
"More like six too many. Only it wasn't Vodka Sours, it was simply vodka. I didn't feel like bothering with them, they get kind of tetchy with the egg whites."
"Don't need a fiddly drink when you're trying to get hammered," she agreed.
"Nope. I used to drink tequila, but ended up doing some really stupid things." He chuckled, sipping his tea. "I hooked up with Cieran, while drunk on tequila."
"If I were you, I'd stop drinking it. Jose Cuervo is not your friend!" she shoved him playfully.
©Dellani Oakes 2023
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