“I heard there was a young woman over here who I helped raise,” the older woman, with gold rings and gold bangles clanking on her arm, said.
Her burgundy hair was braided and twisted into a bun at her nape, matching the shade of her lipstick. She was fly as hell and looked old enough to be their grandmother but still young and having shit her way. There was evidence in the way the men’s eyes, young and old, lingered as she stood there.
Smiling, Cyren inched out of the booth. “Hey, Ms. Neeti.”
Their embrace was full of love... and loss. Ms. Neeti squeezed her tight, pouring all her strength and those forever-flowing prayers into her. Before she could get emotional, Cyren pulled away.
“Hey, to you, too, sweetie. My goodness, you’re gorgeous. Looking just like Nicole when she was your age.”
Cyren smiled softly, being held at arm’s length. She’d heard that her entire life.Thank goodness she doesn’t look like that daddy of hers.Cyren’s grandma had recited the statement or a variation of it, dissing the man, every time she saw her granddaughter.
“Thank you. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Mhm. In the back.” Ms. Neeti focused her attention on Heavy. “How you doing, handsome? I’m Ms. Neeti.”
“I’m good. Nice to meet you. Coo’ lil’ spot you got here.”
Ms. Neeti grinned and patted Cyren’s arm. “Nothing like a man who can spot the boss without knowing the boss.” She winked at Heavy and focused her attention on Cyren. “You ain’t brang your tail ‘round here to see me. How long you been home?”
Cyren gulped. Of course, she said it as if she knew she wasn’t just visiting like she did during college breaks or weekends. She didn’t want to lie, but she also didn’t want to have to explain why she hadn’t visited. Goodie’s wasn’t exactly the first destination on her mind when she moved back.
“Not too long. Some months. I’ve been trying to get back?—”
“Nope. You don’t have to explain anything to me. To anybody. I was just teasing. I’m happy you’re home, Cy. You let me know if you need anything, hear?”
Cyren nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I will.”
“Alright. Y’all enjoy yourselves. Love you, sweetie.”
“Love you, too.”
Ms. Neeti gave them both a smile before heading back to her office. Cyren scooted back inside the booth, her eyes darting around for the waitress to bring her another shot. Her nerves were bad all over again. Heavy read her mind, focusing on the way her fingers fidgeted against the perspired glass of water.
“You want another shot?”
She blinked away almost wet lenses and cleared her throat. “No. That’s okay.”
“Nah. Go ’head. It’s coo’ if you do. Do what you gotta do to not feel that shit.”
Gulping, Cyren stared at him from across the booth. His hard gaze didn’t waver from hers. She knew that not feeling anythingright now was temporary, but the sincerity in his tone urged her to wave their waitress over.
“Okay,” Cyren agreed.
Their waitress was back before she could fill the semi-awkward silence. She filled Cyren’s glass and placed a fresh glass of Sprite in front of Heavy. Without a lime and care for the hangover she might have in the morning, Cyren tossed it back and licked her tingling lips. She was certainly done for now.
“This was my mom’s and her friend’s favorite spot. Well, it was my granny’s favorite spot first. That’s how long Ms. Neeti has been in business.”
“Word?” Heavy asked, interested in the history. “Not ya moms took over.”
Chuckling, Cyren nodded. Bright-eyed, eager to yap. “No, for real. She really did. According to my granny, she used to sneak in when she was around fifteen and just sit in the back listening to the music, eating the food, and getting refills of her favorite drink.”
“So you get that sneaky shit from her?” Heavy asked, and Cyren’s jaw slacked.
Far from offended, Cyren laughed and shook her head. “Sneaky is crazy. They were going to let us in regardless of our age.”
“True,” he agreed, nodding.
Goodie’s had been around for years and was a staple establishment in the city. Known for its good drinks, even better food, after-hour performances, gambling in the basement, and close-knit family vibes, it was the place to be during the week and weekends. The bouncer at the door didn’t recognize Cyren, but he knew Heavy. Their identification wasn’t checked, even though the age limit to enter was thirty. Ms. Neeti wasn’t about to play with these Gen Z kids. She didn’t care if they were of age to drink.
