Zero Obstacles (Lesbian/WLW)

Chapter Fifteen: Family Matters

NAALIQ

The Chicago Huskies are rolling into town for our first regular season game, and my anxiety's hitting like clockwork. The season opener is tonight, and I spent all last night tossing and turning, visualizing the plays Coach Zu and the staff concocted. I've run them a hundred times in practice and got into rhythm with the new squad, but a thread of doubt hangs in the corner of my mind like a stubborn cobweb.

My leg bounces under the table, nudging the seafood spread every now and then. Momma told me she was flying in for the big game, even planned a private lunch for me, her, and Kyla. But here we are, sitting on the rooftop of a beachside restaurant—with three "surprise" guests. My damn siblings. They're playing their favorite game, "Who Can Get Cursed Out by Liq First?"

"I got the flyest outfit for tonight," Dre says, lips pressed together, shooting me a sneaky glance. She looks constipated or like she's trying to hold back a grin. She's got a game in Memphis tomorrow but somehow pulled some strings to skip practice and watch me play. Her support's kinda cute and heartwarming, but I'd never tell silly ass that aloud.

"Shiiiit, I bet you won't put that shit on like me," Ju combats, flashing his pretty boy smile at our little sister.

As Dre gears up to protect her fashion sense, our oldest sibling chimes in. "Neither of you can dress," Niecy declares, barely looking up as she stirs her grilled salmon salad. She blocks the sun with her hand–as if she doesn't have Gucci shades resting on the bridge of her nose.

She's so damn fake-bougie. Somehow, our H-Town accents have stayed thick and intact, no matter how far we travel. But Niecy sounds like an adopted Valley girl.

"And you can?" I ask, my amusement presenting itself in my tone. "You throw on a corset, designer shades, and red-bottom heels, and swear you're doin' somethin'."

Niecy levels her fork at me. "Don't even try it, freak. I flew out here to support you."

"Nah. You flew out here for the free plane ticket," I shoot back.

"Pops was supposed to make the trip, big dawg," Ju chimes in. "But he came down with something last night."

"Real convenient," I mumble, loud enough for everyone to catch it.

Niecy stabs her fork into her salad, her voice sharp as the metal prongs. "Not everything's about you. He has food poisoning."

"Maybe if he stopped eating those strip club wings with Ju, his stomach wouldn't be fucked up," I say, muffling a laugh with a bite of my Cajun seafood pasta.

"Whoa there, hold up!" Ju yells, extending his wide stretched palm across the table. "Don't do me like that. I don't eat wings at the strip club anymore." His tone mellows. "I've matured. I get my food delivered to the club now."

I glance over to my right, where Momma's sitting. Her royal blue painted fingernails snap a crab leg in half. Sucking the meat from the leg, she pays us no mind. How can she be so chill when we're discussing how her husband frequents strip clubs like a deacon frequents church?

My parents have spent most of their marriage together but somehow apart. Back in the day, Momma's nursing career kept them distant, and now it's us—their three superstar athlete kids—that seem to occupy their universe. I can't remember the last time I saw Momma tenderly graze my dad's bicep, or Dad kiss the top of my mom's head as he caressed her spine. The more years that go by, it becomes clearer that they're married more by the bond of friendship than romance. Dad has other companions outside of their union; it's common sense at this point. But does Momma have someone on the side, too? Shit, I would.