The baby in our family certainly behaves like one, but who can blame her? Daddy did everything for her, gave her everything she wanted. Now she’s into her drama with what’s-his-name. But I do not trust short men who dye their hair, wear pin-striped socks, smoke cheap cigars, and drive big cars. I don’t care if he is a cop.

For starters: How about an Exotic Fruit & Mediterranean Vegetable Platter; Madagascar Coconut Prawns seasoned with a hint of curry and browned to perfection; Cape Verde Island Crab Cakes served alongside cilantro-lime rémoulade; Salat Cashmere, a lavish platter of tabouli and hummus with steamed prawns and served with an olive-oil-and-fresh-lemon dressing, garnished with Roma tomatoes, feta cheese, and fresh mint, accompanied by fresh-baked garlic-butter pita bread; and Bastia, a classic North African pastry course of delicate, flaky filo pastry filled with layers of shredded chicken, cottage cheese, ricotta, and black walnuts with a touch of cinnamon and a host of aromatic spices.

What else have they been saying about me? That I think I know everything; that I feel like I’m always right. Well, I can’t help it if I’m resourceful, know more than some folks about some things, but never have I acted like I know everything about everything, and I don’t make assertions unless I can back them up. I do not consider this a form of arrogance, and if certain people in my family would allow themselves to be enlightened by something other than Melrose Place, The Young and the Restless, or Rikki, Jerry, Jenny, and Oprah (even though I love Oprah), maybe they’d be better informed, too. I can say this for Lewis: he reads books that make a point, but I think he’s read too many, because he’s bursting at the seams with information that he hasn’t found an outlet for, but, then, that’s where family comes in handy.

I’ve gotten used to dealing with all of their criticism and accusations. Wait. That’s a lie. I haven’t. Well, maybe from Mama, but I expect it from her, because, number one, she’s my mama and, two, she hardly ever has anything nice to say about any of us, which just means she loves us. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that Charlotte either doesn’t like me anymore, or is holding some kind of grudge against me for something I don’t have a clue about. Deep down, I know she has a good heart, but I think being soft scares her. She sees it as a weakness. Janelle is just sweet and simple. I wish there was a way I could intravenously dispense some confidence into her while she sleeps, because she doesn’t know that self-doubt can ruin a genius; and, plus, Janelle’s a whole lot smarter than she gives herself credit for.