“I don’t understand why you can’t just talk to other old ladies,” I told her as she searched for a place to park. “They all want to be your friend.”
“Right. Exactly. Why? Why do they want to be my friend, East? I’m not even friendly.”
“True,” I muttered, and we both laughed.
“I’m for real. Some of them are always hovering around me. It’s giving, let’s suck up to the Queen Bee.”
I glanced over at her. “You consider yourself the Queen Bee, huh? Okay. Didn’t know I was rolling with the Queen Bee,” I teased.
“Shut up! I don’t consider myself the Queen Bee. But Kobey is the big dog, and I’m his girl. So it makes me feel like they want to get close to me to be close to Kobey’s power.”
I knew what she meant. I just liked messing with her. “You’ll never know who’s sincere if you don’t give them a chance.”
“If some of them are sincere, then I’m sorry. I don’t have time to weed through the fake ones. I’m cool on that. No new friends.”
I didn’t comment, because it wasn’t like I was rolling in friends myself. The last friend I made was Rikkia. I hadn’t spoken to her since she told me she was moving back home. I was the last person who needed to give advice about cultivating relationships—friendships or otherwise.
“How are you doing, East? You having any negative feelings about coming with me today? I know I was kinda pushy about it. Sometimes I forget that you’re still . . . healing from something I can’t really relate to. Kobey thinks I should’ve let you stay in Sweet Jackson if that’s what you wanted, but I figured you would wanna support Bishop.”
“You’re good.” I waved her concern off. “I’m only going for the class, right? You’re taking me home right after the class ends, right?”
“Right.”
“I should be fine.” I couldn’t help smirking. “I’m not anticipating any fireworks going off while we’re in Quentin’s studio.”
“Me either. And speaking of Quentin.”
My stomach sank.
“How’s that going?”
I played dumb. “How’s it going how? His house is still peaceful and calm. I’m sleeping at night. No nightmares.”
“Are you still in the guest room, or did my prediction that you would be sleeping in his bed in less than a month come true?”
I hated to admit that she was right, but I also wasn’t going to lie. “The night of the Juneteenth thing, I slept in his bed because I was scared to sleep in the guest room by myself. I’ve been sleeping in his room ever since.”
“In his room or in his bed, East? Don’t play word games with me.”
I huffed out a sigh. “In his bed, Asia. But I promise you, it’s strictly platonic. This man is still very much caught up on his wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
“No.” I looked over at her profile. “He’s not divorced. He and his wife didn’t break up, Asia. She died. She died while they were still very much living and loving in a healthy marriage thatthey both saw going the distance. If she was alive, they would probably be coming to these events as couple goals. They would probably have little Quentins and Teagans.”
“You seem bothered, stink. Are you bothered?”
Was I bothered? I asked myself the question one thousand times throughout the day. I asked it again as I stood at the stove. “Am I bothered that Quentin still loves his wife, is still in love with his wife?” I whispered to myself. That thought played on a loop in my head as I stirred the sauce for the shrimp scampi I was making.
The chime of the security system let me know that the front door had opened. Shortly after the chime, Quentin appeared in the kitchen. “Damn, you got it smelling good as hell in here, and I’m hungry as hell.”
I smiled to myself. “Well, it’s basically ready. You can eat if you want to.”
“I want to. Just let me holler at the bathroom, wash my face and hands.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
I pulled the baked chicken and the roasted broccoli from the oven. Then I got two plates from the cabinet and began to load them with food. Quentin came in just as I set the plates on the table. “Sit down,” he told me. “I’ll get us something to drink.”
