“I didn’t know that.”
Stanley chuckled. “I suppose he didn’t tell you that. It would have been a fascinating mention, but nothing for you to worry about. Genetically speaking, the father determines the sex of the baby and the mother does the number of them in the womb at once. Unless twins run in your family, Jordan here was destined to incubate and arrive here alone.”
I stood and turned to him. Stanley was tall and cinnamon. He didn’t have the length Stenton carries and likely didn’t before age morphed his natural height. Stanley’s eyes weren’t marbled either. They were pitch sable, very stark. I dropped my eyes to the floor at his expectant stare. He was a bit intimidating.
“What was Stenton’s father’s name?”
“Stenton.”
“Stanley and Stenton,” I muttered underneath my breath, or so I thought.
“You mean Stenton and Stanley. He was born two hours before me. I was the stubborn one, destined to be the loner.” With his long arm stretched in the air, he gestured at the aged home where he resided alone.
I rubbed the back of my neck as I cleared my throat. “How old would he have been?”
“Are you asking my age in a roundabout way, Zoey?”
I swear I wasn’t. I was just intrigued about the man who haphazardly raised Stenton, the, in turn, solitary man.
“Stanley, I brought you birthday gifts and cake from my momma’s kitchen, shouldn’t my intentions be clear by now?” I winked flirtatiously.
His head barreled back and Stanley hooted like I’d never heard him before. I’d been with Stenton’s uncle on several occasions over the past year, the first time was when I was in my last trimester when Stenton brought him over to my parents’ for dinner at my mother’s insistence. It was after we’d made love on my birthday when it was less painful to see him. Then after Stenton and his teammates left Jordan’s christening, my dad agreed to give Stanley a lift home. He came over to my parents’ to spend time with Jordan. He and my father made fast friends...well, as much as was possible with Stanley; he was an anomic and only took company or gave it in small doses. My father, as a flexible man, was okay with that. My mother less so. She didn’t believe God created us to live in solitude. She made it her mission to connect with people like Stanley, who she felt needed companionship of some sort, hence my visit today.
I didn’t need to be assigned to come to Newark to spend time with Stenton’s uncle for his birthday. I got along with him and only didn’t initiate the visit myself because he could be a bit standoffish and preferred his privacy. We’d invited him to church, family dinners and other gatherings where he selectively obliged. But my mother was insistent that Jordan and I come today, even skipping morning worship to be with him. So, after Sunday school, Jordan and I hit the parkway.
“You’re a damn firecracker, you know that?”
I shrugged and smiled ruefully. “I’m good for a hoot every now and then.”
“Sit down and relax. I put out some snacks for us.” He started out of the living room, presumably headed to the kitchen toward the back of the two-family home.
“Hang on,” I alerted. “You know the first thing Sarah Barrett is going to ask is what you thought of her banana bread.” I rustled through one of the gift bags for the pan.
“Sarah…sent banana bread?” his voice drooped like Scooby Doo’s. “Well, young lady, you should have said banana bread instead of just cake. Give that thing to me.” He came over and barbarically snatched the pan from me.
“Hey! And what am I…chopped liver? I put on my favorite dress for you!” I pinched my brows together.