“Late night?” he asks, walking to the back to grab her packages.
She shrugs, dropping the powdered doughnuts on the counter for him. “I like what I do, Donny,” she calls. “It’s fun. I’m happy.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, girl. You remind me of my granddaughter. Always working,” he says through heavy grunts. “You two would get along.”
She leans over the counter, eyebrows drawn. “You alright in there?”
He rolls out a large box and drops it on the bellhop cart. Her eyes widen.
“That’s for me?”
He holds up a finger, going back and returning with three more, and finally a bouquet of white tulips. When she gives him a questioning look, he shrugs, telling her to return the cart when she gets a chance.
After dragging the boxes inside, she decides she needs a shower. Face scrubbed and hair up, she grabs a knife to open the first box—then her phone rings.
“Hey, Mom.” She breathes, dragging the knife through the tape.
“Happy birthday, baby.”
Jahlani’s chest tingles. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t know what to buy you.”
Jahlani’s lips turn upward. “It’s okay, Mom. This is good. This is nice.”
They lapse into silence as Jahlani chews on her lip, contemplating what to say next. Despite their virtual therapy sessions, their phone calls are still tense. Unnatural.
“Do you … have any plans?”
Jahlani looks around her apartment, lowering herself onto her loveseat, momentarily taken aback that her mom isstillon the phone with her and thatshe’sasked a question.
“I don’t ... I just went to work, and now I’m in my apartment.”
“Hmm. You should go out. Have some fun.”
Jahlani nods, her brows bunching together. “Maybe,” she murmurs. “I don’t really like going out that much.”
“That’s true. I was like that when I was your age.” Her mom continues, trying to recall how she spent her twenties, mentioning how she stumbled across a picture of the two of them from when Jahlani was little. She talks, and talks, and even though it’s not perfect, and it’s not fixed, she starts to no longer feel like she’s on the back burner.
And when she hangs up, she feels better about them than she has in a long time.
Inhaling deeply, she moves to the kitchen to start prepping some cinnamon rolls. As the oven preheats, the boxes taunt her in the middle of her living room. Setting her wine glass down, she resumes opening the first box.
It’s a stack of romance books. She thumbs through the pages, her eyebrows pinched together as she moves it to the left of her.
The second box is a pair of noise-canceling headphones.
The last one has her hands shaking. It’s a limited edition Catan.
A knock at her door startles her, and her eyes immediately go to the clock on the stove. It’s after ten.
Running shaky hands over her shirt, she checks her appearance in the circular mirror before opening the door.
“Roman,” she says, her throat constricting as her body grows light.
“Jahlani.”
His hair is in its familiar tousled state and even though it’s been two months, it feels as though no time has slipped between them. She steps forward but stops herself when she sees he has something in his hand.
