Page 31 of Brazen Mistakes

I take a tentative step forward. “Yeah. But I’ve only ever braided my own hair.”

“Sit down. I’ll teach you what’s different.”

I take in her perfectly neat and even braids over one side of RJ’s head. “Um. Why don’t I watch first?”

She perches on the chair behind him, scoops up a comb with a lethal-looking point and a pot of something shiny, then divides the hair, pinning bits back with clips hooked to her sleeves before separating and covering a chunk in whatever’s in the pot and swiftly whipping out another even braid. I’m thoroughly impressed. And a bit intimidated.

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

RJ’s been watching me watching Trish, and he huffs out a laugh. “Sug-Clara, I’m sure you’ve got this.”

“I have a feeling this will be like cooking. And we both know I’m hopeless there.”

Trish leans back in the chair, challenge in her eyes. “You’re not even going to try?”

RJ’s warm hand wraps around my ankle as I step toward the taunt. “You don’t have to. It’ll keep for a while, and I can always pay someone to fix it for me.”

Looking down into the amber glow of his eyes, the urge to crawl into his lap and give him a real welcome home kiss floods me. He must see it, because his lips twist in the corners, and his thumb strokes the bit of skin he finds on the inside of my ankle. Clearing my throat, I turn back to his sister. “I’ll try, but I don’t think you’re going to be impressed. Sorry.”

“It’ll be my brother who’s sorry if you’re terrible.” She grins at me, and I can’t help laughing.

“You wouldn’t fix it?”

“Only if he knocks himself out of whatever mood he’s in.”

“Trish can be vicious when she feels like it,” RJ says from the floor as Trish and I change positions.

“Only when you deserve it.”

Trish coaches me on box braiding while teasing RJ. I try to pay attention, only I keep getting distracted by this new side of him. He’s free with his sister, joking, buoyant. It’s easy to see how close they are, how so much of RJ’s social life ended up dictated by his little sister, and how much she values his insight into what’s going on in her life.

By the time I’ve finished my first braid—grossly uneven and twisting to the left—I’m weirdly grateful to Trish for forcing RJ out of his shell for the last half a decade.

“Well, you’re not a natural,” Trish says, looking over my work.

“Definitely not. Unless you’re hoping for avant-garde, I think you’re going to have to find someone else.”

“He was always freaked out by the barber. And it’s not like his broke ass could afford to have this done professionally.”

I must not cover my disbelief fast enough, because her eyes stretch wide as her mouth drops open. “I knew it. I knew it! RJ, I swear to God, if you are actually a secret millionaire, I will burn all this hair off your head. I should have guessed Pops wouldn’t have said what he did if it wasn’t true.”

For the second time in nearly as many hours, every muscle in RJ’s body tenses. “What did Pops say?”

“He was talking to Mama, and they stopped when they saw me there, but it was something like, ‘Don’t worry so much, Diane. RJ can cover us if we need it.’ I thought maybe it was asking you to stay with Jade or something if they went out of town, but then they clammed up, so it feltlike they were talking about money. And now, I know that’s exactly what they were talking about. Spill.”

“When was this?”

Trish squints at RJ, picking up on the tension that’s vibrating under my fingers, and I lay my hand on his shoulder, trying to offer comfort. He slips away and rolls to his feet.

“When, Trish?”

“Right after you left. Why?”

“Was he still home when you came here?”

“No. What’s going on, RJ?”

“We’re going home. Now.”

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