I chuckled at his use of my childhood nickname, short for String Bean. When we were growing up, everybody had a nickname, some that honored a skill, a talent, like Hoops or Three-Point, some that described them physically, like Bean or Whip. His real name, the one his mama gave him, was Charles Mayo Jr., but no one close to him ever called him that. I smiled at the delight he exhibited in solving my problem so quickly and, in his mind, so definitively. I slowly drew in the aroma of spicy andouille sausage and warm corn bread. “Yeah, well, as much as I respect your gut, I’m going to need a little bit more than that.”

He eyed my bowl, the remnants of his culinary efforts smeared over his white apron. “It’s good, right? You like it?”

“It’s delicious. You definitely know what you’re doing.”

He beamed, his wide mouth stretching out into a grin that went from ear to ear. “Told you. It took you long enough to get your skinny tail over here.”

“Been busy.” There’d been Pop, and other things.

“I know what it was,” Whip said, almost as though he’d heard me. He reached across the table to pat my free hand, his dark eyes tracking my progress as I finished my gumbo, pride on his face. “Want pie? I got sweet potato, pecan, apple.”

I looked up from the bowl, impressed. “Shut up. You can make pie?”

He let out the warmest belly laugh, like Santa high on sugar cookies. It was almost as comforting as the gumbo. Whip. Here. This was my family. “Bean, I can make whatever you got a taste for.”

He’d spent nearly half his life in prison, I thought as I watched him, but he’d finally found something he was good at, besides stealing cars and sticking people up. We’d lost touch for a while, but we were back, and he was doing okay. I was glad. He hadn’t had the easiest start: a father who was a mean drunk, a mother who died around the same time mine had. Luckily, at twelve, we’d had Pop to guide us through. It still hurt that Whip somehow got lost halfway there. “I’m proud of you. You know that?”

His face lit up. “Took me long enough, didn’t it?”

This time, I placed my hand on his, and squeezed all my love into it. “It took as long as it was meant to.”

He nodded, grinning. “Guess you’re right about that. It’s just too bad he’s not here to see it.”