L. Banks - My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding

"Hugh just threw me his apartment keys and left to go stay with his family in the hotel—the poor man couldn't take no more to­night, even if we are homeboys."

"Baby, that's such a shame," his mother said quietly. "He'll be all right. His family is prayed up, ain't they? Besides, I don't think your uncles aimed to kill . . . uhmmm, just to deter."

"I ain't got no shoes, no drawers, no clean shirts, and all the good stores are closed. My best man is four inches shorter than me, so scratch me borrowing a suit from him. His car is totaled; my car bat­tery mysteriously just died; how am I gonna get to the mall? Ain't no buses running out here. Not to mention, I can't get hold of Odelia—since for some reason, my cell phone, and any other phone I touch, won't connect with her number. Now you tell my uncles for me, if they don't wanna see Jeb's son really lose his temper, then they'd better stop throwing whatever it is that they're hurling over the fence toward the Hatfields! Y'all gonna make me lose my mind and conjure myself!"

"Oh, Lord . . . don't tell 'em that. It'll jus' get their hopes up."

"Baby girl!"

Odelia stood stock-still as her father waltzed into the motel lobby with a bag of ice. Reluctantly, she hugged him, hoping he wasn't in­volved in the fray.

"Just look at my chile, all growed up." "Dad," she said calmly, "what did Auntie Effie do?" "She didn't do nothin'," he protested, peering away sheepishly as he held a dripping bag of ice. "They was out, machine went dead here, so I had to go make a run to get some—" "Daddy . . ." Odelia's hands went to her hips. "Aw, you know Effie. She just got herself a bad case of the hives . . . you know how high-strung she is. Might be shingles. She had them once or twice, and they say it never really goes away. But, uhm, after the food poisoning passed through her and all her sisters, we was all able to get on the road and travel up in a coupla vans with no problem. You get the dress I sent you, suga'?" Her father flashed her the most dashing smile and his thick bicep wrapped around her in a one-armed bear hug.

"Yes, Daddy," she said calmly, and returned his hug. "It's beautiful."

"I'ma be a proud man to walk down the aisle with ya looking just like yo' momma . . . even if he is a McCoy."

She let the dig pass, as well as the sentimental reference to her mother. "You-all don't stop, ain't gonna be no wedding."

"Now, now, don't git yourself all worked up. We all agreed to a truce," he said, patting her arm as he hoisted up the ice higher.

"My maid of honor's hair is green. Black beetles attacked her salad. She threw up in public in a restaurant. A crow pooped on her head in the street. The girl is laid out on her sofa, traumatized. Tell Aunt Effie to stop, because whatever she sent toward Jefferson boomeranged, missed me, and hit my best Friend."

Her Father looped his arm beneath hers and Feigned shock as they began to walk. "Do tell. Now, see, that's why I don't Fool with them tacky establishments. Your girlfriend oughta be more selective—"

"Dad, I'm serious."

She watched her Father swallow away a smile.

"Aw right. Your Nana Robinson made us call a truce, like I said, any ole way. Plus I heard that Rev got up a prayer wall, so it musta accidentally slid onto whoever was near ya."

Odelia stopped walking. "I haven't been able to get in touch with Jefferson all day."

Her Father patted her arm and kissed the top of her head. "Oh, he'll be all right. He's covered, I reckon."

"You reckon?"

"Effie and your other aunties was truly offended by Nana Robin­son's accusations."

"Where's Nana?"

"Alive. That old bat is fine."

"Daddy!"

Her father sighed. "I don't rightly know. Probably holed up with Reverend Mitchell, and them Jones people. They had the nerve to form an alliance agin' us Hatfields—have you ever heard such? We supposed to be kin, us and the Robinsons!"

"What happened?" Jefferson said in a near whisper as he looked around the hotel room that all his uncles had packed into for a fam­ily meeting. Were it not for a lift by another buddy, Jefferson wouldn't have been there at all.

Each one of them had dark red splotches all over their faces and was itching and scratching so badly that it gave Jefferson a nervous tic. His mother stood at his side, arms folded over her big bosom, wig firmly set on her head, her expression a mixture of victory and disgust.

"Serves 'em all right. I done tol' 'em Grandma Jo meant what she said. But they had to tes' my momma and it done boomeranged on all of 'em. They couldn't even eat dinner at Red Lobster, for every­body getting sick."

"Boy, tell your grandma to call off the hoodoo hounds so we can all go to your graduation tomorrow," his uncle Rupert begged, scratching his crotch. "There's conjuring, and then there's just plain ole unfair!"

"Son, I got a suit you can wear; one of us got some shoes," Melville cried, scratched a bald spot in his scalp, and then unbuckled his pants. "Tell that old lady that to make a man itch this bad where the sun don't shine just ain't Christian!"

"Where's Gran?" Jefferson asked his mother, too done For words.

"Over at the church, probably with Rev and the Robinson and Jones clan."

Odelia didn't wait to be told twice. Her mission was to find Nana Robinson—sanctuary. After seeing her thirteen aunts sprawled out on two beds, the floor, and room chairs scratching what looked like quarter-sized mosquito bites, Odelia was out. She lied, telling her fifty cousins who whooped and surrounded her in the hall with glad tidings that she'd be back to eat dinner with them, as soon as she double-checked on her girlfriend. Eat there? Not. She just prayed for all the little kids, too numerous to count, hoping God truly did look after children and fools.

By the time she reached the church grounds, she was close to tears. Obviously, verbal truces aside, an all-out war had started. If Jef­ferson had been hurt and caught in the cross fire, she vowed to mount her own vendetta—against her own kin. This was absolutely outrageous!

Odelia double-parked, dashed for the church house, rang Pastor Wise's door, and waited, hugging herself. She could hear loud voices and laughter and could smell the fragrance of good home cooking wafting from the windows. Why couldn't her life just be normal, like this? When the burly man with the big smile and warm eyes came to the door wearing a clerical collar, tears streamed down her face in earnest.

"Come on in here, darlin'; you got people waiting on you," he said, enfolding Odelia in his arms. "Reverend Mitchell—the bride's here!"

Odelia buried her face in the pastor's barrel chest and breathed deeply, staving off an all-out crying jag. Another pair of warm, el­derly hands petted her back and guided her away From Pastor Wise and across the threshold. Nana Robinson was smiling and standing next to a thin, gaunt woman with a kind Face and merry eyes. A roomful of people surrounded the two older matrons, and Reverend Mitchell kept his arm tightly around Odelia's shoulders. But once she saw her nana, it was all over.

Breaking the reverend's hold, Odelia rushed to the thick, safe arms that had always been there for her as a child.

"I know, baby. We all heard about it," her nana cooed, stroking Odelia's hair. "Now you go on upstairs with Pastor Wise's wife, get showered, and put your dress on. We sent your cousin to go git it, and a nice security guard from the building let us in, so we could save your momma's dress from the fire ants that decided to invade your apartment. The door was already open, on account of they had to fumigate."

"Fire ants?" Odelia was slack-jawed.

"Oh, we got the dress and shook 'em out." her nana reassured her. "We's gonna fetch your daddy, and that boy's momma, and bring jus' them here for a little repast. The rest of them fools got contagion." Her nana chuckled and clucked her tongue as she held Odelia back so she could wink at her. "Brought it on dey-selves . . . don't know how that happened?"