Page 73 of Time Stops With You

“What picture? Why didn’t I get a picture?”

“Let me send it over right now,” mom says.

My phone beeps.

I look at the screen and the face of the person I’ve been desperatelynotthinking about appears. I quickly hit the back button so the picture disappears, but it’s too late. It’s been seared in my mind.

Cullen, wearing a snug white shirt and fitted trousers. It was my first time seeing him out of a polo or T-shirt and jeans. He looked handsome. Even his beanie didn’t look out of place with the outfit.

“Isn’t he a looker?” Mom teases, her voice turning soft and giggly. “He’s on the skinny side, but that’s nothing a little Caribbean cooking wouldn’t fix. Besides, he’s tall so that makes up for everything. I always say, a man doesn’t have to be handsome if he’s tall. And luckily, that white boy has both the looks and the height. Why don’t I see a ring on him?”

I squirm. “Mom, I’m kind of in the middle of cooking for my stall so I can’t talk long?—”

Just then, Josiah re-enters the kitchen and I mime frantically for him to take the phone from me.

“Alright. You two stay safe and I love you so much.”

“Love you too, mom.”

Josiah grunts, which is his own version of ‘I love you’.

“And Nardi, no matter how busy you are, let’s try not to go too long without a call. I want to make sure everything’s alright.”

“Understood, mom. Don’t worry. I love you.”

“Bye, mom.” Josiah hangs up.

I glare at him. “Consider your punishment extended.”

“What for?” he whines.

“Because I said so.”

He stomps to the living room where he slouches in the corner chair and continues to tap on his phone.

Thirty minutes later, the mashed potatoes have been whipped to perfection and it’s time to take the laborious journey down the stairs.

Josiah heads out first with the giant pot of stewed chicken while I follow behind with the plastic tub of mashed potatoes. Immediately, Big T’s door bursts open and he hurries to me.

At this point, I firmly believe he stares through his peephole every Saturday afternoon, waiting to see movement from my apartment.

“Nardi, hey.”

I lift a knee to balance the container more securely in my arms. “Hey, Big T.”

He checks his watch. “Heading out a little late today.”

“Yeah, but we’ll make it.”

“Let me take that,” Big T says, reaching for the pot and slightly brushing his hand against my chest in the process.

I ease back, telling myself—as I always do when that happens—that it’s just a mistake. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He stares at me, licking his lips.

I clear my throat. “I’ll get the plates and utensils. Josiah, take the car keys and open the door. Stack these in the backseat.”

“Hey, Big J.” Big T grins at my brother and lifts his chin up in greeting.

---