“When you were talking to yourself a minute ago, you said he wanted a cake for his birthday.” I stop mopping and lean against the handle. “So, again, what kind of cake does he want?”
Her eyes widen for a second before she rolls them. “I was just talking.”
“No, you were just reading that text on your phone from Rich about what he wants for his birthday.” I point at it in her hand. “Because you talk to him a lot.”
I saw his name at the top of her text message threads in her phone the other day even though she’s never been much of a texter.
She cuts her eyes at me. “You don’t have any business to mind?”
“You and Uncle Kennyaremy business. I saw that unopened bottle of blood pressure medicine in the guest bathroom and you’re?—”
She raises her eyebrow.
“You’re taking clients out in Manvel, texting with Uncle Kenny’sprojectsand cleaning their houses. Somebody needs to monitor y’all.”
She howls out a loud, raspy laugh. “Girl, we’re grown. The only person you need to monitor is that fiancé of yours.”
That mucky feeling clings to my skin now, and I can’t find the words I yelled at Terrica the other day in her car.
Jesus, how hard is it to tell Aunt Faye that I woke up and left AJ after losing one last fight?
I wasn’t like Mama. I knew when I had enough.
When I don’t respond, her smile disappears. “Did y’all talk or is he still too busy to have a conversation with you?”
“I…”
The word lingers in the air, but nothing comes after it. It’s like I can’t form the sentence I need to say. But how can I even say it to her once I think of the perfect one? She doesn’t see right through me like Rich does, and there’s no muscle memory from years of swapping secrets like there was with Terrica. It’s like digging through mountains of words for the ideal neutral ones that can convey just enough to keep her away from the ugly truth.
“Things are…are complicated between us right now,” I mutter, resting my chin on top of the mop handle.
She looks up at the ceiling before glancing back at me. “Hmm. So, are we talking complicated like another girl approaching you in the street about some silly text he sent her, or another rumor you saw on one of those gossip blogs type of complicated?”
She chooses her words carefully, like I imagine she used to do with Mama when they talked about her relationship with Tony. Somehow, she makes the incidents sound like little blips in me and AJ’s relationship when they were much more—like an embarrassing run-in with his side chick while I ate dinner with Terrica at Mastro’s, and then a messy Instagram DM from WAG Watch about her and AJ’s “pregnancy scare”.
I look away from her intense gaze. “Like it’s best if I stay home for a while, complicated.”
“But what about the wedding? You already started planning it. You said me and Kenny were gonna meet y’all in France to look at the venues once AJ wrapped up the season.”
I feel all the how’s, when’s, and why’s coming, so I blurt, “I…we need to press pause on it.”
It feels easier than telling her that the relationship she always warned me about had spiraled into the same mess Mama and Tony’s had.
Her brown lips fall open, and she nods. “Oh…okay. I understand. Well, are you okay?”
I nod, suddenly becoming fascinated with all the tiles I haven’t mopped.
“Are you sure?”
“Ye…yeah.” I glance up.
Her face relaxes as if my response temporarily quells all her worries about me, AJ, and a wedding that’ll never happen.
“I…uh texted him about that AC unit he promised Uncle Kenny. No response yet. He has a game in Cleveland tomorrow so he’s probably getting settled into the hotel there.”
“Okay…I’ll let Kenny know.”
All it had taken was for me to stop stalling and check Google and AJ’s Instagram to figure out his whereabouts because Rich’s stupid question wouldn’t leave my head no matter how many days it’s been since he asked it.
