Free The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Real by Neta Jackson Page B

Yada Yada. Though I’d still like to put in a petition for a couple months of “dull and boring”—
    A sharp poke in my side brought my eyes open with a start. “Psst. They want you,” Florida hissed in my ear, jerking her head toward the doorway that led from Nony’s family room into her kitchen. Yo-Yo and Ruth were beckoning at me behind Nony’s back. I got up from my end of the couch as quietly as possible and tiptoed out.
    â€œThere!” Ruth said, indicating a large, rectangular bakery cake sitting on the counter. “A good job Yo-Yo did, yes?”
    I stared at the cake. Yo-Yo worked at the Bagel Bakery, and I’d shanghaied her to see what she could do with my idea for Nony’s birthday. Nonyameko’s name was written in beautiful green icing across the top. A fairly decent “drawing” of Lady Justice in flowing icing robes, blindfold, and holding a black balance scale— Black icing? Cool! —took up most of the cake, with two words on either side: Truth and Justice.
    â€œPerfect,” I murmured. “Nony is going to be so surprised.”
    â€œWhat are you sisters up to?” A deep male voice made me jump. Mark Smith, dressed casually in sweats, poked his head around the corner.
    â€œShh. Nony’s cake.” I grinned. “We’re celebrating her birthday early. Thanks for the heads-up.”
    Nony’s husband, smiling big, walked over to the counter and looked at the cake. His smile faded. He pinned me with his dark eyes. “What’s this?”
    I was so startled, I almost couldn’t find my tongue. “Uh . . . Nony’s name.What it means: ‘truth and justice.’ ”
    â€œReally.” His eyes drifted back to the cake a moment. Then he walked out of the kitchen, pausing to say flatly, “You’re only encouraging her, you know.”

8

    Y o-Yo frowned and stuck her hands into the bib of her denim overalls. “What was that about?” I had a pretty good idea what it was about—but was he serious? Or just joking?
    â€œMen, schmen.” Ruth waved her hand as though brushing Mark’s words out of the air. “Who knows? Half the time what they say makes no sense. Jodi, did you bring candles?”
    Ruth’s question shook me out of my stupor. “Yes . . . oh, rats. They’re in my purse in the other room!” I pulled open one drawer after another along the kitchen counter till I found what I was looking for: a kitchen junk drawer. Aha. There they were—birthday candles. The skinny, sparkly kind. I quickly stuck about eight of them in various places on the cake, and Yo-Yo was right behind me lighting them with her cigarette lighter.
    I suppressed a giggle. Smokers had at least one redeeming quality: a ready light.
    â€œCome on, come on,” Ruth hissed, standing ready to open the door to the family room. “The praise time is pooping out.”
    This time I did giggle as the three of us pushed through the door with the tall, skinny candles spitting sparks in every direction. “Happy birthday to youuuuu . . .” we began singing, a bit off-key, and stopped in front of Nony, whose large, dark eyes widened as the rest of the Yada Yada sisters chimed in. “Happy birthday, dear Nonyyy . . . May Go-od bless youuu.”
    â€œOh, my sisters,” she sputtered. “It’s not even my birthday yet—oh!” Her eyes read the cake. “Truth? Justice? What’s this?”
    I felt a flush creep up my face, remembering Mark’s reaction. But I plunged ahead. “It’s what Nonyameko means: ‘truth and justice.’ ”
    Murmurs of “Oh” and “That figures” and “Amazing” mixed with smiles, hugs, and general laughter as Nony digested this information.
    â€œBlow! Blow!” bossed Ruth, setting a stack of little paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks alongside the cake on the glass coffee