Najee glanced her way. “Hey. What’s going on. I’m looking for some white roses. I wanted to add some color to them, but I should probably just stick to them by themselves, huh?”
She chuckled, nodding. “You can. They can stand out on their own. We have two kinds. The vase life of one type can last up to eleven days, while the other type can last up to three years,” she explained.
He nodded, not needing to be sold on any other kind if there was one. “Let’s go with the ones that last up to three years. That’s some new shit?”
The florist chuckled. “No, sir. The history of preserved roses dates back to the 1970s.”
As she gave him a history lesson, Najee followed her toward the front of the store. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to get her the thirty solid white roses in a gold box, the ones that came with gardenias, or the small vase that held four roses inside. Knowing he needed to get home before Orielle left, Najee told her to package all of them up. He went with lavender for the smaller four-set.
Just as he handed over the money, the shop’s door chimed. Out of habit, Najee looked behind him. It was the middle of the day on a random Tuesday, but that never mattered to the reckless, scheming niggas in his city. He used to be one of them and still considered a few of the youngsters his ‘lil’ homies’.
Not in a flunky, lil’ boy, make-a-store-run manner, but one where Najee was considered an older brotherly figure. Not all could be taken under his wing, though.
They’d rob a floral shop, just like they’d rob the bank across the street. A hungry nigga with no guidance never gave a fuck, and Najee never wanted to get caught lacking.
The person who stood behind him, looking like they’d seen a ghost, deserved to get run down on, though. Najee had the right mind to make a call and have some young, thoroughbred girls from the hood, who fought for sport, come and beat her ass. But life looked like it had already done that.
Renae looked nothing like the woman he had once known. Her once-flawless lace fronts were now a disheveled, struggling ponytail. Dark circles sat beneath her eyes like she hadn’t had a wink of sleep in months. Dull skin was covered by faded leggings and an oversized hoodie that hung off her once-thick frame. She looked like she had gotten dressed in the dark.
Her lips were dry and cracked, and Najee knew she had to feel some sort of relief when she licked them before speaking to him.
“Um... hey, Najee.”
His forehead dented at her meek tone. Renae’s entire demeanor was different. She’d never been the nervous, quiet type. She was fidgety as hell. She kept tugging on her sleeve, and her eyes kept darting around the shop like she was waiting for someone to jump out.
Man, I know this girl ain’t on drugs, Najee thought.
“Hey, Renae!” the girl, who’d been helping Najee, said.
Renae gave her a closed-mouth smile. “Hi, Precious.”
“You here for your usual?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay. Let me finish ringing him up, and I got you. How’s your sister holding up?”
A wave of sadness washed over her face, and Najee hadn’t cared before, but he wanted to know what the hell was up.
“Um... she’s doing okay,” she answered, and the girl gave her a sad smile.
The truth was, Renae hadn’t seen Kelli in months and had no clue the status of her health.
“What’s wrong with your sister?” Najee found himself asking.
“She’s dying.”
Renae’s answer was so dry and clear-cut, he felt like she’d punched him in the throat.
“Damn. I’m sorry to hear that.” And he was.
After their breakup, Kelli had still been nothing but kind to him even after Najee embarrassed her sister. She’d even apologized on her behalf. So, hearing that she was dying disturbed his spirit. She was good people, and life could be so unfair.
Kelli had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and only had weeks to live, if that. The aggressive disease hadn’t been detected and spread to her other organs, making it unresectable. Renae’s family had started a GoFundMe to try and cover hospital bills, but they knew what the outcome would be. Najee had been so far removed from her life and everyone in it, he had no clue about any of this.
“Yeah... me, too,” she said, and almost jumped out of her skin when the door chimed.
Renae almost broke her neck to see who had entered the shop, and then it hit Najee. He thought her jittery movements were because of him or from doing drugs, but it was from something he never would’ve expected. Renae was getting abused. All the signs were there. Had her actions not proved it, the massive bluish-purple bruise on her neck did.
