Page 159 of Anything Necessary for Her
“You ain’t pay nobody to do it?”
I laughed.
“I did for some of the bigger shit like electricity, plumbing, and roofing, but the inside, I wanna do myself. I already did the flooring, but the shit took forever in between working and being a boyfriend and shit,” I explained as he nodded.
“You don’t need no help, young nigga? My back hurting just listening to this shit. Lucky for me, I got Sif, so I make his ass come over and put shit together or play contractor.”
We chortled in unison.
“As much as I would appreciate bonding with Banks’s pops and the help, I’d much rather you keep her busy for me.”
“Aight, I got you.” He took me in like he was thinking deeply before he asked, “You play pool?”
“I do. All the time when I go to Free’s house.”
“We gotta play one of these days.” He kept his eyes locked on me.
“I’m definitely with that. Just don’t renege on yo’ stamp of approval when I win.”
He snickered subtly.
“I ain’t know what to think when Sif told me he was passing this shit off to you. I was hot, I ain’t gon’ lie. He only thirty-one, so I was expecting him to go a little longer on top of everything. He broke it down to me though, said he wanted to be sure he was aliveandfree to be there for his wife and his kids. Not to mention, he was beyond wealthy, and any more money made would be out of greed and ultimately inessential.” Prime looked to the floor, thinking. “I couldn’t even be mad at that shit ’cause he was right. He also said he wasn’t handing shit off to no fruitless, foolish ass nigga, and he was right.” He finally caught my eyes.
“I appreciate that, P. For real.”
“I had yo’ ass all wrong, Low, but I’m thankful you ain’t no bitch ass nigga who let a bunch of grown men who think they know everything run him off. In our defense, we do know a lot, and in most cases be right, but I should’ve known better if suspicious ass Sif wasn’t side-eyeing you.”
Chuckling, I replied, “It’s straight. I understood the issue, and honestly, the Low from some years back wouldn’t have been a good fit for Peep. Not to mention, I got a baby sister and . . . man, I just pray I can keep it together,” I stated honestly, even though Prime and I sniggered.
“Just pray she finds a nigga like her brother.”
His comment caught me off guard, causing me to let out a deferred chuckle.
Little did he know, that one sentence, and from a nigga like Prime, held more weight than gold, and surely more weight than anything Whitney had ever said about or to a nigga.
SATURDAY . . .
I stepped back from the mirrored wall to be sure the barre I’d put in was actually straight. I’d been working in this ballet studio since seven a.m., and it was now noon, so I was tired as fuck. I’d gotten a lot done, though, having painted most of the walls that didn’t have mirrors pink, put in barres, and then the pink vanity in the bathroom.
“My wife went and bought all this shit claiming it’s to decorate.” A voice I knew belonged to Asif made me turn around toward the entrance.
He was carrying a bunch of bags, and I could see it was filled with pink shit—Banks’s favorite color.
“Oh shit.” I took some of the bags from him, and once we set them down in the corner, I slapped hands with him. “Tell Stazi I appreciate that shit, for real. I don’t know nothing about decoration,” I said as Asif took the place in.
“This is a dope ass idea. Mad I ain’t think of this shit, but I guess it’s cool for her to like you better,” he jested.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Shit.” He ran his hand over his fade. “What you need help with?”
“You serious, nigga?”
“Yeah. And I brought some more people too.” He walked back toward the entrance and waved a bit before Bashar, Lequay, Cemone, Shakur, Unique, and Khari entered. “My pops hit us up and told us to come help you out.”
“Damn. I appreciate this shit for real.” I went to dap everybody up, listening to them clamor in response, admiring the work I had done.
“Man, none of them fucking stores had—Cemone Compton.” Wyatt barged in, dropping the liquor store bag containing the drinks and snacks I’d sent his ass to get. “Man, can I get a photo?”
