Our house appears in my review mirror, then the park, then Romeo’s house. Romeo’s old house. It’s hard not to feel anything about it. It’s the end of an era. A terrible, beautiful era that shaped us both in terrible and beautiful ways. An era that saw us finding each other, loving each other, and losing each other. As real and heavy and recent as it all is, there’s a lightness too. A rightness. A newness. An understanding that sometimes life is a series, not a standalone book. And a profound, absolute certainty that our story is about to get good.
I drive down the main road at precisely thirty miles per hour despite the early hour and the fact we’re the only people on the road. When I get to Jameson Drive, Alabaster’s most ridiculous, almost-always-deserted road with no fewer than three completely unnecessary four-way stops, I observe them obediently.
“Hey, d’you remember that time my mom got pulled over here and fined for not stopping?” Romeo asks.
“Yeah.” I smile. “I was just thinking about that.”
“Remember what she said to the cop when he finished writing her up?”
“Yeah, she said”—I straighten my posture slightly and widen my eyes—“‘Officer, may I ask if you believe in your heart that this streetneedsthree four-way stops?’”
“And that ass had the nerve to say, ‘No, ma’am, I don’t.’”
We both chuckle, and I add, “I loved it when she was telling your dad the story and she said, ‘And, Mike, that man dead-ass looked me in the eye and said, ‘No ma’am, I don’t.’”
“Dead-ass,” giggles Romeo. “I loved it when she said things like that.”
“She was a phenomenal swearer. She had a talent for it. She used curse words so sparingly, but she really had a gift for knowing when to slap one into a sentence for maximum impact.”
“I forgot about her talent for swearing.” He laughs again and gives me a happy-sad look with a glimmer of gratitude.
It feels good to remember. Even though it hurts, it feels really good to remember.
The narrow street widens and houses and buildings give way to green.
“You know what she told me once?” Romeo says.
“Tell me.”
“Now, I have no memory of this, so you’ll have to take it with a grain of salt, but…”
I can tell from the way his eyes are dancing that this will be good, but it looks like he’s decided to dangle it in front of me and make a meal of it. “Oh, come on. Spit it out.”
“She told me once that after we met that first day in the park, I was talking about you nonstop, andapparently—again, please remember I have no memory of this—I kept saying, ‘Tiger has muscles to the sky.’”
I curl a bicep and give him my biggest shithead grin. “Oh God,” I say happily. “So this is what self-actualization feels like.”
He laughs till he lets out a tiny, gruff snort. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. As I was saying it, I literally thoughtthis is a mistake, his ego can’t handle it…but”—he changes from smiling to serious—“I want you to know because I know she’d be happy I’m withyou. She’d be proud of us. I know it. Like, know itdeeply.” He digs his fingers into his chest and taps twice. “You know?”
“I know.” It’s quiet in the car except for the metronome thud of Tiger’s tail whipping against the back seat. “D’you know that the last thing I ever said to her was that I’d look after you?”
He acknowledges it with a tiny, knowing quirk of his lips. He does know that. I told him many times when he was in my bed in the middle of the night and I was the only thing holding him together. “I meant it too. I won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again, Romeo. Nothing bad.Ever again.” The strength of my intention forces my rib cage to expand. “I mean it. If anyone or anything comes for you, they’ll have to come through me.”
He tilts his head to the side, trying not to smile as he takes me in. “Oh, Jude, you know you can’t stop bad things. I don’t expect you to. No one can.”
“Um, but, bruh, you just said I had muscles to the sky. Youliterallyjust said it.”
His jaw drops in indignation. “Bruh?”
“Fine. But,baby, you just said I had muscles to the sky.”
He pushes the corners of his mouth down hard to stop the threatening smile. “Better.”
“Say it,” I demand.
“No way.”
“Say it, or I’ll stop the car. Don’t think I won’t because I absolutely will.” I give him the most menacing glare I can muster and start slowing the vehicle. “Say it right now, I mean it.”
