Georgia Boyd was already talking that hot sh*t the moment she crossed over the threshold, bright red pumps click clicked from the cement of the front porch to the freshly tiled floors of her Grandma Carrie's living room as she wondered aloud, "Why are there so many loud mouthed n*ggas here?"
And she was the one to wonder. Having arrived at seventeen past eight o'clock when the sun had long dropped from the sky and been replaced by a blackness that veiled Blossom street, she had come too late to form any opinion about anything.
Keilani Goodwin, her cousin, rolled her eyes and re-positioned her legs, lapping one thigh over the other. She knew Gigi was going to come at her wrong in some fashion that day whether by word or action; Gigi was going to reign whatever way she could.
Gigi was pretty, extraordinarily pretty based on the opinions of her color struck family, and, as she stood with her back grazing the mosaic glass window of Grandma's opened door, she visibly basked in the glow of their admiration.
The b*tch just loved to be the center of attention, and, unfortunately, Thanksgiving Day at Big Mama's house was the place to do it. There was enough people to blow her fat head up to the point of implosion.
"Hey, everybody!" Gigi waved a perfectly manicured hand with sharp black nails at everyone and smiled through full cherry red matte lips. She stood as if she were a model, turning this way and that to show off her equally red cropped halter top and black leather pants.
The room lit up with compliments.
"Oh, Gigi, you did that girl. You lost some weight girl? That stomach is flatttt."
"You just as pretty as your mama. Is she coming by today?"
"You too pretty girl. Somebody gonna snatch you up."
To the last comment, she flipped her long black weave over one yellow shoulder and laughed hollowly, "I already got somebody Uncle. He left his phone in the car."
Amid the polite conversation, her eyes fell on Keilani, and she grimaced. Keilani grimaced back and crossed her thin dark brown arms across her less than chic black tank top. Gigi had won with one look. Keilani wished that she had worn something cuter. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, to her family, she would never be as pretty as Gigi.
The two had been at each other's throat since they had been born. Separated by only a few months and the distinction that one was exceedingly bright and one was damn near ebony, they were just as opposite in their taste. At 23, the only similarities that the cousins shared was their mutual hatred, blood, and men.
The hatred was understandable on Keilani's part because Gigi had screwed a crush or two of Keilani's, and, to solidify the hatred, was currently dating Keilani's most recent ex. Before that, Gigi had made a point of lauding her high yellow complexion over Keilani's darker one, and, well before that, the two had just been raised to hate each other. It was in their nature. They couldn't help it.
Gigi soon forgot about Keilani and pushed the screen door open for her unseen guest.
Keilani shifted on the rust colored couch, upsetting the cousin to the left of her who looked up from her phone and watched along with the breathless Keilani as Gigi's guest crossed over the threshold and announced his entrance publicly by slamming both doors shut.
"Ay! You must be going to pay for another door young man!" Uncle Jerry called out from the back of the cramped kitchen where he stood holding the screen door for his tiny great granddaughter Bria to pass through.
YOU ARE READING
Caramel in her ChocolateGeneral Fiction
**NOT FOR TEENS UNDER THE AGE OF 18** Keilani Adams has Stereotypical Black Girl issues: conniving ex, dead mama, absent daddy, man stealing cousin, terribly low self-esteem, ect. Paired with Grad school and her hush-hush virginity, life is already...