Page 87 of Lily In The Valley
Tasha smiled. “The one and only.”
I gave a polite nod and reached for my drink.
She leaned in, letting her lips graze my ear. “Babe, try the chilaquiles. You’ll love them.”
Babe? She never fixed her mouth to call me nothing like that before. She knew what we were. But in front of her friends, her fingers drummed on my left thigh, then rested there lightly, claiming me as hers.
I felt like I was watching myself from across the outdoor patio. Like I’d been cast in the role ofboyfriendand didn’t know the script. When her hand touched mine, I didn’t flinch. But I didn’t feel the spark either. I used to feel it. The pull. The heartbeat skip. That low hum in my blood.
I felt it with Kelly.
Even when I didn’t want to.
Even when she was breaking me in half.
That night, I stayed at Tasha’s again. We had sex. It was good. She knew what she was doing. She worked hard to make it feel like something. But halfway through, I caught myself thinking about the way Kelly used to look at me when I kissed her neck. That soft intake of breath, like she was surprised I still knew how to worship her.
Tasha kissed me hard, pulled me close, called me “baby” in a whisper.
But I wasn’t present. My body moved, but my mind was elsewhere. Caught in the space between who I was pretending to be and who I actually missed.
After, she laid on my chest, fingers tracing lazy lines across my skin.
“I like this,” she said.
“This?”
“You. Here. With me.”
I nodded. Didn’t speak. She didn’t ask for more. That was the problem.
The next morning,I didn’t mean to end up at Xavier’s front door. But I did, a box of boudin kolaches in one hand. Sleep was still thick in my eyes. Regret sat heavier in my chest.
He answered the door in gym shorts and a hoodie, barefoot, sleep coating his eyes.
“Bruh…it’s not even seven o’clock.”
“I brought kolaches.”
He opened the door wider, squinting at the box. “Let me get one before Nessa smell it and take them all for herself.”
Inside, the house smelled like waffles and baby lotion. Vanessa’s nesting energy was everywhere. Stacks of folded burping cloths filled the armchair in the living room. New paint samples littered the kitchen island. A stack of tiny pastel onesies hung over the back of the couch.
I followed Xavier to the kitchen where he poured coffee into a chipped mug with “Black Dads Matter” across the front. I set the kolache box down between us.
He raised an eyebrow as he bit into one. “Why you over here at the crack of dawn?”
“You said you needed help setting stuff up in the nursery.”
“I ain’t mean right now. I been up all night trying to satisfy Nessa’s cravings. You look like you should be sleeping, too.” He wiped his face, trying to wake up.
“I have been sleeping.”
“Then why you look like you’re haunted?”
I didn’t answer.
He knew.
