“It was a good decision that little brother turned out to be me.”
“Uh huh. You were so sweet and quiet.”
“And breathing too hard. I didn’t know what to say to a girl on the phone back then.” Hasheem shook his head just as the waiter set our food down on the table. The conversation between us that day was so bad. Neither of us knew what to say.
“Baby, the conversation between us was so bad. Your brother had to hop back on the phone and translate,” I said, picking up a fry. “One minute, he was cracking jokes. Next thing I knew, he was the one calling me after school. He was the one pulling up to my house and asking me to be his girlfriend.”
“Yeah, and weaseled your way into our family so good that we became best friends. See? Solid story. That’s killing me at poetry night.”
He made it sound so simple and not like a hot ghetto mess.
“Nope. There is no way I’m telling them people your brother was supposed to pass me to you, and somehow, I ended up dating him until senior year when I found out he had not one but two girls pregnant at the same time. That is not cute. That’s a horror story.” I popped another fry into my mouth before I said something I couldn’t take back, like how sometimes I wondered how things would be if that phone call hadn’t crashed and burned.
“It’s more believable than poetry night, Harlowe.”
“Okay. We can say we met in high school,” I said. “But we stop it there. No brother. No phone call. Just high school best friends turned lovers.”
“Cool.” He smirked. “We met in high school and have been stuck together ever since.”
“Blessed,” I corrected. “Been blessed with each other ever since. We’re selling love here.”
“Blessed,” he muttered, turning another page in the packet. The conversation died down a little as we ate and he read over the packet. I tried to focus on my tenders, but every time he flipped the page, my stomach turned.
“Okay, now what is this?” Hasheem blurted out, making me look up as he pushed his tray away.
“Public displays of affection guidelines.” He read the headline. “You made rules for how to touch you?”
“That was for Kylil.”
“Nah. This section is fucking insane.”
“Shut up!”
He kept reading, clearly ignoring me.
“Okay with handholding, waist snatches, forehead kisses, thigh touches in photos, leaning on each other. Not okay with ass grabs and tongue in public. What does ‘in public’ mean, Lowe?” He held up the page and tapped the line with his finger. “Your little rented boyfriend was gon’ be allowed to do what exactly?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Again, you are my business.”
“I’m grown and single. If I wanted to indulge in some off-camera boyfriend perks, that’s between God and me.”
“Nah, it’s betweenme, you, and God now,” he stated. “I’m just trying to figure out how this is about to work. Your man is supposed to be all over you. How are we supposed to go from talking shit and dapping up to kissing, hugging, and sharing a bed?”
My stomach flipped because that was a good question. Hasheem and I kept our friendship pretty PG. Sure, there were movie nights that turned into me falling asleep on his shoulder. Sure, he bought me flowers every Valentine’s Day like clockwork, crashed on my couch when it got too late to drive home. He’d rubbed my feet a handful of times when I was tired and ordered me food when I forgot to eat, but kissing and hugging on purpose? Sharing a bed on a tropical vacation? We didn’t do no shit like that.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said finally, lifting a shoulder like it was no big deal when it was absolutely a big deal. “That’s why I made the rules.”
“Yeah, about that…” He flipped the page back to the physical affection guidelines and dragged the paper between us.
“So, according to this”—he tapped a line with his finger—“I can do this . . .”
He reached across the tiny table and laced our fingers together. My pulse spiked. It was just our hands. We’d held hands before crossing busy streets, squeezing through concerts,after that one haunted house I pretended not to be scared in. But it felt different with him looking right at me like he was right now. “Because hand holding is approved,” he finished.
I rolled my eyes, but my voice came out weak. “That’s acceptable PDA, yes.”
“And I can do this,” he said, turning my palm and tracing lazy circles in it with his thumb. “Because light touch is cool.”
