“I wasn’t even entertaining it.”
“You didn’t shut it down either. What if a man approaches me like that?”
Fairs.
“Exactly.”
I grab the trolley again, trying to recover my dignity.
“Next time,” I mutter, “use words.”
“Next time,” she replies, picking up a bag of peppers, “answer faster.”??
I sigh, “I’m sorry, Jelly.”
We turn into the next aisle.The normalcy of it feels strange after that.
I nudge the trolley into her hip. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer straight away. She picks up a box, reads the back like she’s suddenly invested in fibre content.
“Frankie?”
“The way those girls looked me over when they saw me… they didn’t think I’m ‘good enough’ to be with someone like you.”
She air quotes it, but her voice isn’t joking.
I stop pushing. “Good enough?”
Her shoulders drop a little.
“Bari baby,” she says, eyes still on the shelf, “I ain’t exactly a model type, am I.”
I frown. “What’s that even mean?”
“You know what it means,” she says flatly. “Don’t insult my or your own intelligence.”
I step in front of her so she has to look at me. “Frankie baby. You’re fucking gorgeous.”
She squints at me. “I ain’t say I was ugly, nigga. Just fat.”
I open my mouth, close it, recalibrate. “Right. Sorry.”
She exhales. “It’s not your fault. It’s just… optics.”
“Optics?”
“You’re six foot something and built like you were designed in a lab. You’re famous. I build video games and have three friends. One of which is my mum.” She shrugs. “People expect you with someone who looks like… I don’t know— a gym influencer? model?”
I stare at her.
“You think that’s what I want?”
“I think that’s what the world thinks you should have,” She massages her temples. “Ugh! This is exactly why I don’t think we should go public yet. I don’t need your fans making comments about my weight or side eyeing me. I can hear the blogs now.”
I step closer so there’s barely space between us and the trolley. “The world doesn’t get a say in this.”
She searches my face like she’s trying to see if I’m just saying it.
