I grin, removing the top of the can. “I can’t help but love a lot about this conversation. First, the pettiness of not wanting your kids to have your stuff is something I can get behind. Second, the fact that you love a coat tree this much is commendable. And third, I fully support Operation Working Pecker. I’m on a similar hunt myself.”
“What are you talking about? You sound young. Pretty. Sharp as a tack. A little sarcastic at times, but you’re good for a laugh. You can’t tell me you can’t find a man out there. I just don’t believe it.”
“Funny story, Pearl. I have a man. Kind of.” I furrow my brow as I cut down the side of the can. “And I’m not bragging or anything, but I’m not a troll to look at. Some would consider me a catch.”
“Damn right that you’re a catch, and don’t you let a man tell you any different.”
It’s obvious she doesn’t know me.I laugh. “Trust me. That’s not a problem.”
“Good for you. So whatisthe problem?”
“The problem is that this guy I’m dating refuses to have sex with me. I know he wants me. He admits it. I’d know he’s lying if he didn’t. But he won’t do it.”
“Huh.” She pauses. “Is he religious?”
“I actually don’t know.”
She scoffs. “Well, even if he was, most of them still get down with it these days. What’s his problem?”
I can’t believe I’m talking about my sex life with the coat tree extortionist. Then it hits me, and I gasp.
I’m getting Gianna’d by Pearl.
What has happened to me?
My process has gotten faster, and I make quick work of the last can. Then I remove my gloves and carefully check on the first two. They could be flatter, but this is just a test round to see if my idea works. So I grab the marker and begin drawing a large butterfly on each one.
“We’ve only been dating for a week,” I say, leaning all the way into this conversation. I’m in too deep to back out now. “But we were friends before. There’s always been some flirtation between us, so I never dreamed he’d hold out on me.”
“You know, back in the day before I was married, men were different from the way they are now. You wouldn’t dream of offering to pay for a soda or a tank of gas. That would be a slap in their face. They held doors open, and there was none of this honking at the curb for you to come out.Oh, hell no.If a man wanted to see a girl, he’d better walk his ass to the front door. And back then, sure, some of them would get nasty in the back seat in the drive-in movie or whatnot—those were my kinda guys if I’m being honest. But it wasn’t uncommon to have a guy wait a few dates before he tried to enjoy female favors, if you know what I mean.”
Hmm… “What are you saying, Pearl?”
“I’m saying that maybe he’s like my Alfred, may he rest in peace. When he met me, he knew he had to stick out from the crowd, you know? He had to get my attention—rise above the back seat fun boys.Earn it. Deserve it. And maybe that’s what that man of yours is doing.”
Is it? I press my palms against the table and lean against them, wondering if Pearl could be right.
“If he’s not rushing into things with you, that’s him wanting to connect with you—make ya feel safe. He’s showing you that he’s not competing with anyone because he knows he’s the star of your roster. Isn’t that what you kids say now? Your roster?”
I giggle. “Something like that.”
“He’s breaking your patterns, sweetheart. That man is giving you a chance to see him for who he is … so you can choose him.”
Whoa.
I push away from the table, my gaze fixed on the phone. What she’s saying makes sense. Drake is going slow—far too slow despite the short time this has been brewing, but slow, nonetheless. He’s giving me space. He’s giving me time. And we’re connecting in ways that I’ve never connected with a man before.
We talk. He makes me laugh. We trade stories about our childhood, our friends, and our favorite television shows. I showed him a video about an artist I just discovered at lunch yesterday, and he tried to explain the defensive formation in a football meme this afternoon. I didn’t get it, but that’s not the point.
The point is, maybe Pearl’s right. Maybe he is trying to earn my attention.Wow.
“You just broke my brain,” I say, picking up the phone.
She laughs, the sound ending in a cough.
“Do you take SocialPay?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
