Excerpt from Glory Be by Danielle Arceneaux, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

1

Glory Broussard was tired of waiting. She figured this barista was new, and she would know since she was a regular at CC's Coffee House. With each drink order, he nodded and flipped through the pages of a thick manual, going back and forth betweenthe espresso machine and the book.

It didn't help that he was grinning like a goddamn fool at that white woman. She was wearing a pink ribbed tank top, and as far as Glory could tell, no bra. Her jean shorts were so scant that you could see the bottom curve of her ass. Glory had seen enough of this recently at the Acadiana Mall to know it was not an accident but a trend, and a disgraceful one at that. Wet hair crept down to her waist, making her look like a creature that had crawled out of the Atchafalaya swamp.

Glory edged up to the counter, closely behind the braless woman. "Excuse me," she said to the barista. "Are you the only one working behind the counter? Y'all should be better staffed for the afterchurch crowd."

"I'm not sure. I'm new here."

"Clearly." She wiped the sweat from her forehead, a useless gesture in Louisiana this time of year.

"Be with you as soon as I can," he said, knocking a quart of milk onto the floor.

Glory squinted at the man, but since it was Sunday, she decided to summon her inner reserves of charity and bite her lip. The woman with the exposed derriere turned around. She scanned Glory's red dress, red shoes, and red hat with a jaunty, dyed-to-match ostrich plume, covered her mouth, and snickered. Earlier that morning, Glory had attended a breakfast with the Acadiana Red Hat Society, a group of pious, black Catholic women. Most of them had stayed for the group's special benediction with Father Romero after regular mass. Now that he was practically famous, those women flapped around him like a bunch of flightless birds. But Glory didn't have time for that. Sundays were when she made her money, and she had to get to work.

Maybe that derisive little laugh wasn't aimed at her all-red ensemble but at the essence of Glory herself. If she fluffed her hair just right and her makeup was squared away, she could still see herself as Miss Lafayette, colored division winner. But nowadays most people could only see the old. Melanin had been a barrier against the worst ravages of time, but black does eventually crack. The lines around her face and mouth had finally settled in, as lines do. And since the contentious divorce, the expanse of her hips had widened thanks to too many plate dinners. The hot plates at Dwight's Family Restaurant were cold comfort for the humiliation.

The barista working Glory's last nerve wasn't the only thing that was new at CC's Coffee House that morning. She eyed a slew of changes that had somehow been made since last Sunday. New uniforms. Merchandise for sale. For Christ's sake, what the heck was going on? Why can't folks leave good enough alone? Glory walked up to the counter, just beside the woman, to get a closer look at the sales display. She inspected the new navy mugs with puffy gold letters and shook her head. With one hand she opened her purse, and with the other she slowly lowered the mug inside, letting it fall to the bottom with her lip gloss and losing scratch-offs.

The woman who had been flirting with the new barista tossed her head back in laughter. Her wet hair slapped Glory's face, clinging to her left cheek like plastic wrap.

"Excuse me," Glory yelled, scraping the hair off her face in disgust.

"Sorry ... didn't see you there." Given Glory's size, it was uncanny how many people chose not to see her.

Noah Singleton, the owner of CC's Coffee House, swung open the kitchen door and walked into the cafe. Glory had known him since he was a teenager with an Afro, but now he looked like the disciplined Marine he once was: squared-off hairstyle, thick neck, and efficient movement.

"Miss Glory, go ahead and take a seat while my new employee prepares your usual. Cappuccino." He nodded to the man behind the counter. He walked her to her usual spot, a simple wooden table and chair in the back corner of the coffee shop, which she liked because it gave her a clear view of the front door. Someone in her chosen profession never wanted to be startled from behind.

Excerpted from Glory Be by Danielle Arceneaux. Copyright © 2023 by Danielle Arceneaux. Excerpted by permission of Pegasus Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.