My mom is alive and being classically her. My insides are still frozen, like I’m in danger and can’t see it. A knock on my window scares the shit out of me.
“Sorry, sir. There’s a Mr. King,” the parking lot attendant says scornfully, “and a Mr. Brant trying to get in the garage without a permit and claiming to know you.”
“I know them.” I exit my car. “They’re not staying, but I’ll talk to them.” They must’ve followed me. Lately, I have no sense of self-preservation.
“What’s up?” I ask King, who stands by the underground garage entrance while Brant waits in the car.
“Am I gonna get shot for trying to get in here? Are we at a private club or something?” His head is on a swivel. The man took me to the projects, and this makes him nervous.
“You know where we are.” I cross my arms and ignore his senseless jab. The parking lot attendant must be new not to recognize him.
“Whatever. Listen, I’m serious about wanting to help with your mom if she’s not okay.” His aqua eyes ooze sympathy, and he sounds genuine.
“She’s fine.” I wave my hand dismissively. “Out of cell tower range at a spa.”
He sinks into himself, and relief is written all over his face. “Okay, cool. See ya soon.”
“You followed me to ask me that?” I call after him.
“Theo, you lost your shit. I can’t claim to know you, but you were sick over her.” He faces me but takes a couple of steps toward the car.
The way he says my name, myfirstname, causes a reaction in me that I can’t place. The fog of anger clouds my judgment.
“I’m surprised Brant went along with following me, considering how into you he is.” My statement rings petulant in my ears.
King releases an exaggerated huff. “Definitely not.”
“Definitely.” I raise my chin.
“It’s not your business, but he’s into someone he can’t have.”
“You.” I throw my hands up like it’s obvious. “Unless you give me a name, you won’t convince me.”
He pauses. I can tell he’s torn and decide to wait him out.
“I don’t have a name and won’t tell stories that aren’t mine.” He scratches under his chin.
“But you know.” By the way his eyes widen, I know I’m right.
“He’s never told me.” He shifts uncomfortably.
I try to catch him off guard in another lie. “Hey, what are your Christmas holiday traditions?”
“Ummm, hockey has made the holidays hard, but we have a few days off I spend with my parents.”
“Here?” I close the distance between us.
Jamal’s head swivels again, and he looks me up and down. “No. Why would my moms and dad come to some club? I go to their house.”
“Don’t you have a tradition with John?” I catch his elbow so he can’t turn away.
“I haven’t spoken to him since his wedding.” He says the last part with an accusatory edge. “Do you need a place to go this year? I’m sure—”
“Don’t bother. I’m good.” It takes effort not to run to the elevator. Luckily, the parking attendant holds it for me, so I jump in, and the doors slide closed.
Jamal isn’t lying. I haven’t met anyone who thinks he’s shady or a liar.
I’m so stupid for falling for John’s bullshit.
