Cookie didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push it. “Well, table six needs a refill, and Larry’s been asking where you are.”
Of course he has.
I got back to work, but my hands didn’t stop shaking for the rest of my shift. Every time the door opened, I tensed. Every time I heard someone call out, I flinched.
But Mehar didn’t come back.
By the time my shift ended, I was exhausted. Emotionally, physically, mentally drained.
I took the bus home, my mind replaying the moment I’d seen Mehar walk through that door. Analyzing every second. Trying to figure out what it meant.
Had she been looking for me specifically? Or was it just bad luck that she’d walked into Grits?
DC wasn’t that big. And if Mehar was here, others might be too. Growing up, my folks never left Baltimore, so why the hell was she here? I was stupid for thinking I could hide in a city that was only an hour away from my hometown. But I had run from everywhere else. I needed to be more careful. Needed to keep my head down even more than I already was.
When I gotto my apartment building, I saw them. Grocery bags. Four of them again. Sitting by my door. I looked around, half-expecting to see Prime lurking somewhere. But the hallway was empty. I picked up the bags and carried them inside. Freshvegetables. More fruit. Meat. Rice. Pasta. All the staples I’d been running low on.
And tucked in one bag, a box of the expensive organic cereal Yusef liked but I could never afford without a coupon. Something warm bloomed in my chest. Something dangerous. He’d done it again. Come by while I was at work and left groceries. No note. No demands. Just… taking care of us.
I put everything away, then stood in my kitchen, staring at the full fridge.
I shouldn’t let him do this. Shouldn’t accept his help. It complicated things. Made me feel things I couldn’t afford to feel. But God, it felt good to not worry about food for once.
I heard the piano from Yusef’s room. Soft, melancholic notes that filled our small apartment.
I knocked on his door. “Yu?”
The music stopped. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
I opened the door. He was sitting at his keyboard, sheet music spread out in front of him. His face still showed the bruises, though they were fading now.
“You’ve been practicing a lot,” I said.
“The Christmas recital is coming up. I want to be ready.”
“You’re going back for the recital?”
“Yeah. I have to. It’s my solo.” He looked down at the keys. “My teacher says I’m good enough to perform at the Kennedy Center next year if I keep practicing.”
Pride swelled in my chest. “That’s amazing, baby.”
He shrugged, but I could see the small smile.
“You want to go down the hall? Play with Nigel for a bit?”
“Nah. I just want to practice.”
I walked over and kissed the top of his head. “Okay. But take a break soon. Eat something.”
“I will.”
I left him there, the music starting up again as I closed the door.
And I stood in the hallway of our tiny apartment, listening to him play beautiful music, groceries in the fridge courtesy of a man I was trying not to fall for, hiding from a past that had just found me.
