“Nah. I lost my breath on the way here, but I’m not trippin'. It’ll come back as soon as Phat done hiding out from scary hospitals at brunch. When I see her and Mom together again, it’ll come back. It always does when I’m with them.”
When I look up from CeCe, he’s staring at me. His eyes are different today. They’re full. Fear isn’t dancing along the edges of his irises anymore.
He pulls his eyes off me and grips the Popeyes bag, scooting forward in the recliner.
“Where you going?” I ask.
“Chelsea...” He holds up his phone. “She say her and her granny wanna pray for us. It sounds like you need some time with Mama anyway. Hit up Phat and tell her to hurry her ass up.”
He chuckles, pushing up from the recliner and stretching his arms to the sky. “Brunch... since when she eat brunch?”
We laugh together, and he reaches out, smacking the back of my head. “I’m proud of you, you dumbass cocky ass nigga. I’m proud of you for showing up for me, for mom, and for your girl. Talking about I’m the closest thing you got to a brother—shit, I’m youronlybrother.”
For a moment that breath I’d been waiting for sneaks out a little, and I’m not searching forthose wordsfrom Pops anymore.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Lourdes
“I’m sorry about your mom.” Cree tilts her head with a sad smile.
“Thanks.”
After five years, my response is automatic. It hangs out on the sidelines of my brain to throw out so other people can feel better for having to address the obviously uncomfortable topic of Mama having cancer.
“I’m glad you found your side of the closet.” She smiles bigger over the rim of her mimosa, tracing my neck with her eyes like she’s thinking about that romantic Kibbe shit again.
Prime Selection isn’t the type of lit brunch spot I scroll past on Instagram’s explore page. It has the qualities of a place me and Mama would drive past in River Oaks and gawk at—skinny white stay at home moms, valet parking, and lots of luxury cars in its parking lot. It all sounds and looks as ridiculous as me having a side of a closet in a million dollar penthouse when I didn’t even own a car, but I knew if I asked for one, Ace would get it. Mama ain’t tell me how scary it would be to wield that much power over a man.
I glance at the silky buff colored two piece set I slid into when Ace left. “Yeah... I found it.”
It fits perfect. I didn’t have to do anything but comb my fingers through my braids after I put it on. I guess that’s what Ace intended when he picked it out and hung it on “my side of the closet.” I had a lot of stuff there I didn’t know about—purses, shoes, and heavy winter coats, even though he says it never gets cold in Texas. It’s a bunch of shit I imagine him buying when he’s running from that candy addiction.
I clear my throat, searching for the most neutral words to add. “It was a lot of stuff there.”
“Oh yeah. It was a mess before. I love my bro, but he can’t organize for shit. He had your sneakers still in the boxes. Hiding Chanels from the world is blasphemous.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is it?”
She laughs hard and then takes another slurp of her drink. “You know, that’s my favorite thing about you. Bitches back home be so fake and would’ve just agreed, but you always keep it a hundred.”
Her accent jumbles up some words, and I even hear Ace in her. It resurrects more of the irrational anger I thought I left in my Uber. I can’t see her as the girl grinning on Ace’s arm at Pittman Academy’s prom while searching for Willow Smith or the girl dressing me for my first gala while fawning over my body. I just see her on that boat with Cheyenne and the other takers.
“Does your sister Cheyenne keep it a hundred, too?”
She chokes, pinching her eyebrows together. “Excuse me?”
“Cheyenne. She’s your sister-in-law, right? Or Javier got cold feet and decided not to propose?”
I don’t want to talk about Chanel sneakers or my side of Ace’s closet. There wasn’t enough time for it. Especially not when she’d already wasted two years of Ace’s life by being an inadvertent taker.
“I—I don’t think we should talk about that,” she stutters, eyeing the crowded restaurant like Ace would pounce on us from the fake ivy hanging from the ceiling.
“That?”
“I mean them.”
“No, you were right the first time.” I swallow my nerves. “I wanna talk about that night on the boat.”
