“Trust me. I do not float,” I said dryly.
She grinned. “You probably do. All light-footed in your expensive socks. Everybody ain’t able!”
I kissed my teeth, but her teasing settled some of the nerves crawling under my skin.
“You remember when we used to sneak in here after rehearsal? Split one basket of fries, swear we weren’t hungry in front of them sorry ass boys, then eat half your grandma’s fridge when we got home?” She smiled as she reminisced. Thosehadbeen good times.
“You mean whenyouate half her fridge. And she still loved you more than me.”
“She don’t love nobody more than she loves you,” she argued quietly.
I smiled, thinking of Mrs. Amanda cussing us out, then feeding us anyway.
“You remember when you let me stay at y’all house three nights in a row ’cause my mama and her man couldn’t stop arguing?” she asked suddenly. “You used to turn your alarm off so I wouldn’t wake up and feel like I was in the way.”
I waved a hand dismissively. “I just needed more sleep after listening to all your snoring.”
Taniyah popped my arm. “You a lie. My point is you still the same. People see the emails and the undecorated hill and the ‘regret to inform you,’” she mimicked my lawyer voice, “but I know the girl who would fight somebody in the parking lot behind the choir stand for looking at me wrong.”
“I only fought twice.”
“You only had to fight twice. That’s loyalty. Stop downplaying it. You still got it. You just hiding it under rich-lady sweaters.”
“It’s a very soft sweater,” I said, smoothing the sleeve on reflex.
“Speaking of people who used to see that version of you, you ready to talk about Mr. Jabali Azizi Christopher or you still lying to yourself?”
I stared at her. “Girl, we can’t say his middle name out loud in public. You trying to summon child support?”
She cackled. “For real, though. How you feel seeing him, spending time with him again?”
“Hungry,” I admitted before I could censor it.
Her mouth dropped open. Then she slapped the table. “Yes, honesty! We love growth!”
“I meant?—”
“You meant exactly what you said,” she cut me off. “Don’t backpedal now. That man walked in my sight, and I needed a minute and I don’t even want him. I been praying for your pelvic floor. Ten years, plus you hid his baby? I hope that thang can hold up!”
“I’m not sleeping with him. You’re disgusting,” I told her, choking on a laugh.
“I’m realistic. You love that man and hate him at the same time. It’s okay. God sees.”
“God needs to look away,” I muttered.
She grinned. “You still mad?”
“Yes. I’m mad he could walk back in here and it’s like the last ten years didn’t happen. I’m mad he knows exactly what to say to make me feel like I’m failing as a mother. I’m mad he’s… him.”
She nodded. “Fine. You mad. But you ain’t indifferent. I bet that scares you.”
I didn’t answer that. Before she could dig in more, a voice like nails on a chalkboard slid over our table.
“Well, look at this.”
We both sighed before we turned. Shayla stood there in a green jumpsuit, hair laid, lashes heavy, eyes full of somebody else’s business. She held a to-go bag and an attitude.
“Hey, Shayla,” I said, flat.
