Page 64 of Invisible Bars
“So it… it wasn’t Ambien?”
“Ambien?” she chuckled. “Is that what Mr. Kors told you? No, it wasn’t Ambien, sweetie, but nothing harmful either; just something herbal and gentle. I figured your body needed a reset, and Lord knows you looked like you hadn’t slept since gas was under three dollars.”
I let out a shy laugh, even as my tics twitched again. One shoulder jerked, and I mumbled under my breath,“Sleep, sheep, creep—damn.”
Ms. Shirley acted like she didn’t even hear it. “Have a seat, dear. I’ll bring you a plate right over.”
I nodded, still shy, and walked over to the island, pulling out a chair slowly. The stool was high, but I managed to climb on without tripping over myself or my own anxiety.
As I glanced around the room, I noticed something—or rather, someone—was missing.
“W-Where’s Imanio?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended. Another tic slipped out: “F-fuck—where’s the shark, huh?”
“Oh, sweetie, he left a bit early this morning; he said he had to get a head start on work since he missed out yesterday.”
I nodded slowly, biting the inside of my cheek.
Dang.
I didn’t know why I felt disappointed or why I wanted to see him before he left.
Naji, what are you doing? That man kidnapped you; this ain’t a rom-com.
I shook the thoughts off and focused on the plate that Ms. Shirley slid in front of me.
It was beautiful.
The eggs were perfectly scrambled with peppers and spinach, turkey sausage links stacked like little towers, and steaming cinnamon apple waffles. A glass of fresh orange juice sat beside it, beaded with condensation.
“Oh, and Ican’tforget about your tea,” Ms. Shirley said with a proud little smile, reaching over to pour it gently into the ceramic mug in front of me.
A stuttered breath caught in my throat. My face tensed, eyes blinking faster than I could control.
“T-Tea time. T-thank you. Thank you—damn, yes ma’am.”
Ms. Shirley smiled like she heard everything, understood it all, and loved me anyway.
“You’re most welcome, sweetie,” she replied, giving my shoulder a soft pat like I’d known her my whole life.
Ms. Shirley wiped her hands on her apron. “Now, I don’t know your likes and dislikes yet, so if there’s anything on that plate you don’t eat, just let me know. I don’t offend easy.”
I picked up my fork, still feeling a little bashful.
“N-normally, I—I eat healthy… plant-based sometimes. No fried foods. No red meat. But… F-Fridays?”
“Fridays?” she quizzed with raised brows.
I grinned a little. “Fr-Fridays I cheat. Eat an-anything—chicken wing, side of sin—shit!”
Ms. Shirley let out a light laugh, like a chuckle from the soul.
“Well, I hope you’ll consider today anhonoraryFriday,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Lord knows if I had a waist like yours, I’d eat like it was Fridayeveryday.”
We shared a laugh—the kind that made the kitchen feel just a little less foreign… maybe even safe.
I wasn’t ready to admit that out loud yet, but my smile said it anyway.
“Have... you’ve worked for Imanio a long time?” I asked, my voice soft, almost hesitant—like I was asking about someone who didn’t like being spoken on unless he was in the room.
