Page 90 of She's Like the Wind
“Please, your girlfriend owns a lingerie store, and you’re a prude?” Kayla gave me a dry look, not even trying to hide her irritation. “I’m positive that Naomi here has modeled some of these for you.”
Naomi blushed and waved a hand. “I need to check on something in the boudoir.”
“See.” Kayla flung an accusatory hand at the retreating Naomi.
“Keep at it and we’ll transfer you to an all-girls Catholic school,” I threatened.
“Like a Catholic school will take her,” Ryan interjected.
Kayla drank some iced tea and snickered. “You’ve been checking out the lingerie…probably to make sure all the girls you date will be outfitted from here.”
“Doesn’t matter since you’re not wearing them,” Ryan retorted.
“You men are hypocrites,” Kadisha announced. “Y’all want to see your girlfriend’s showing tits andass…well, I got news for you, Kayla is gonna be someone’s girlfriend.”
“Please, don’t say such things.” Ryan put a hand on his heart. “I’m going to have a cardiac incident right here and now.”
While they bantered, I went to find Naomi, who was cleaning out a fitting room.
My family adored her. Actually, it was more than that. They saw her and instantly liked her, made her one of us.
“Please don’t ever tell me what Kayla buys from here.” I wrapped my arms around Naomi, who went on tiptoe and kissed me.
“Deal.”
“They like you.”
She seemed overwhelmed from time to time because of how everyone in my family just accepted her and dragged her to all kinds of family nonsense.
Her cheeks went pink, her eyes a little glassy, like she didn’t quite believe how my family felt about her. “They do?”
“Yeah, baby, they do.”
She smiled shyly, and when she returned to the register, I hung back, watching my siblings orbit around her, watching her soak in the moments I should’ve given her from the very start.
It hit me then—she hadn’t said she loved me to get my attention, she’d told me because she wanted to belong.
In the evening, when we went to dinner at Pluck, her favorite wine bar, I said as much to her.
“It’s just…so strange,” she confessed as she looked out of the window.
“What is?”
She turned to look at me. “That…they just…you know….”
“Accept you?”
“Yes,” she exclaimed.
I frowned. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“There’s…you know how I grew up.” Her voice was soft, careful, like she was walking a tightrope inside her own heart.
“I do.”
“I used to make myself small,” she elaborated. “All the time. After my parents died, when I lived with my aunt and uncle. I was this…unwanted thing in their house. Too loud. Too sensitive. Too much. So, I learned to hide it all inside. My wants. My heart. My voice.”
My breath hitched.
