I lay back in bed, glowy and grinning. Baby, I was happy, but I let my voice become humdrum just because. “Oh, Lord. Here comes the logic.”
“Chère, listen, we should discuss Genèse’s feelings in a more therapeutic setting tonight.”
Smelling a scheme, I played along. “Boy, please, you don’t wanna know Shonda’s prices for an emergency session.”
“I meant inside our shower. It spans half a room. Very clinical. Good acoustics. So, if wecan’tagree on why y’all made Genèse cry, you stand beneath your rainspout. I’ll stand beneath mine, no touching. How does that sound?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Washington, you’re using your cousin’s fake-ass meltdown as a cover. You big freak!”
“I’m multitasking. Also, Shreveport isn’t the next city over. Tomorrow, I’ve gotta wake up at the crack of dawn and drive thirty minutes out of my way to get you.”
“Sir, stop.” I laughed. “Okay. Yes. I’ll spend the night.”
The word slipped out most accidentally, but the silence that followed? It snapped my entire world into focus.
Washington didn’t respond. And neither did I. My mind boggled at what I’d agreed to do.
Not the shower. Or the ridiculous number of rain-shower heads. Nor the ridiculoustherapy settinghe tried to sell, half in jest. I’d said yes to returning home. Back to the house I hadn’t stepped foot in since the crash.
A slow breath expanded my chest, tight with memories that didn’t choke me anymore, but still burrowed beneath my skin.
“Our house … used to echo with the sound of laughter, an occasional prayer, and love. We can do that again, Washington.”
“Madison? You sure,bébé?”
“Yep, I’ll be … home in an hour.”
Iwheeled my luggage into the living room of my sister’s place, glancing around as if I’d never return. Honest to God, I needed this to work. Once we returned from Shreveport, I wanted Washington and me to make the jump. Well, I’d keep my meeting with Omari and Martin on Monday. Nerves might cause me to delay packing until after I had news. I didn’t want to return to our home as a burden on Washington.
“Then we’ll make it official on Tuesday after therapy,” I muttered to myself, checking through my purse.
The front door flew open. Lynetta rushed in, bouncing in her NASA prototype rejects. “You’re spending the night at his home? Atyourhome?”
“You look happy.”
“Girl, I’m your ride or die. I’ll cop the same attitude you have. We came to that conclusion already.”
I hadn’t expected us to become so close. Lynetta always ran with her crew. The day I left for college in California, she started at NYU.
But now, we embraced, jumping around like an old sitcom, the horrible theme song in my head.
“Maddy, Washington better treat you good, because frowning is messing with all of this.” She gestured to her face. “Yours too.”
“Okay, Mom Junior.”
“You packed your facial serum and moisturizer?”
“You know … it,” I paused, staring at the open front door that, in my sister’s elation, she hadn’t closed. A man stood there. Muscles from his head to pinkie toes. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around Washington’s third-hand account of Texas hiding in the Dollar Tree from somebody. He was well over six feet, like the rest of his brothers. His head barely cleared the doorframe. And his personality was usually bigger than his namesake.
Today though?
From behind him, the evening NOLA sun washed out the glow he usually carried like a personal spotlight. Texas scrubbed a hand over his face. His dreadlocks, normally fresh, crisp, and styled within an inch of their life, begged for a retwist. Frizz puffed at the roots as if waving for attention.
A tumbleweed beard obscured the clean-muscular line of his jaw. Texas was always hustling, always one step away from questionable life choices. But he always smelled of expensive soap and apparent good intentions. The contradiction was impressive. Olympic level. But today?
My heart hurt to look at him.
Lynetta raised her eyebrows. “Hey, Texas, or is it Tennessee?”
