“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, annoyed that I didn’t get the memo that the elders were here tonight. I wouldn’t have come had I known. Before I can turn around, Grandma waves me over. I was too slow, and now it’s too late—I’m trapped.

“Grab a plate.”

“I was just leav—”

“Nonsense,” she snaps. “Eat and sit.”

Knowing I can’t argue with Grandma, I do exactly as she says. I go to the buffet, pile on a hefty scoop of rice, then put the beef tips and gravy on top. Maize also cooked some roasted potatoes, and I take a double helping of that. Then I sit at the very end of the table, hoping to blend in even though Grandma isn’t having it.

“Closer,” she demands.

I let out a sigh, and my dad glares at me.

“We’re having a family meal,” he states.

“Apparently,” I say, sitting right next to him. Mom chats about the horse training business, and Aunt Mila talks about the school. After everyone has given Grandma an update on what’s going on in their life, she glances toward me.

“And what about you?”

“Not much goin’ on with me,” I say, hoping she’ll drop it. I look at Grandpa, hoping he’ll save me and change the subject.

She glares, crossing her arms. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” I swallow down the meat stuck in my throat, hating that they’re all in my business and know exactly what’s going on.

“How about you stop mopin’ around and go get your woman before it’s too late?” she says bluntly.

“She just told you.” My dad snickers and elbows me.

“My woman?” I snort. “She’s not mine.”

Grandma glares at me. “She won’t be if you let her get away. Don’t be stupid.”

“She’s on a date right now at this very minute,” I explain. “What do you expect me to do?”

After taking a sip of tea, Grandpa clears his throat. “If I would’ve just sat around like you’re doin’ right now, I might’ve never married your grandmother. The same thing almost happened to us, but I went and won her over. I told her how much I loved and wanted her, and well, the rest is history,” he explains.

“Don’t be like your father,” Mom reminds me. “That’s a sure-fire way to cause a lot of unnecessary drama and heartache.”

“Guess I’m never gonna live that down,” Dad mutters.

“Nope. Not that or how many of your big Bishop babies I had to birth.”

“They are like turkeys.” Grandma chuckles, then her gaze meets mine. “Are you done feeling sorry for yourself now?”

“I wasn’t,” I say, but my tone isn’t convincing anyone.

“Then finish up and go to her. I dare you. Unless you’re chickenshit.” Grandma smirks.