“Of course. Can I warm my food up?” she asked, holding up the bag.
Heavy nodded. “Yeah, my fault. You can take your jacket and shoes off if you want to.”
Getting comfortable, Cyren removed her jacket and draped it over the arm of the couch but kept her shoes on. She hated walking around with shoes on but hated it even more when she had no house shoes on. Following him into the kitchen, Cyren couldn’t help but admire the upgrades. The white oak cabinets and glossy white backsplash brightened the otherwise dark space. The granite countertops matched the island in the middle, which had mail, an empty glass, and a candle resting on it.
“This smells so good,” Cyren said, holding the bergamot, matcha, and green tea wax blend to her nose.
“You can have it,” Heavy offered without thought.
Cyren squinted. “Why? Who gave you this, and you trying to give it away?”
Laughing, he dried his hands. “Nobody, woman. I bought it from this lil’ store I be shopping at. Just hadn’t lit it yet.”
“Mhm,” she hummed and sniffed once more before putting the lid back on. “I’ll take it.”
“This food looks fire. Where this from?” Heavy’s stomach growled as he unwrapped her plate.
“The place I’ve been volunteering at. The food is actually pretty good.”
Heavy didn’t doubt that. The sweet potatoes, baked chicken, and green beans looked like a meal he’d whip up on a Sunday.
“I bet. You like volunteering up there?” he asked, closing the microwave door and pressing a few buttons until it whirled to life.
“I do. Maybe you could come with me one weekend.”
Heavy wasn’t against that. “Yeah, maybe so. It might give me some motivation to get a few things in motion.”
“Things like what?” Cyren asked, scooting onto the barstool.
Grabbing a fork from the drawer, he rinsed it before removing her plate from the microwave. He was conflicted about bringing the community center up but lowkey wanted to hear what she thought. Heavy placed the plate in front of her and stood on the opposite side of the island. He watched as she bowed her head and said amen, before answering her.
“Just some things my grandfather set in motion for me. I been pushing it off, focusing on other things.”
He’d been focused on the same things Gramps had warned would land him back in prison, or worse, dead. Heavy was chasing the money as if he were running out of time.
“Why? Is it not important?” Cyren asked, and finished chewing.
“It is, but... shit. Right now, I’m still working on it ‘cause that was his goal and his dream for me. I ain’t too convinced I’m supposed to be living it.”
Cyren didn’t respond right away. She took another bite of her food, chewing slowly. His words had affected her in a way she hadn’t seen coming. Heavy watched for a moment, then reached for his water and took a sip.
“What if it’s both?” she finally said.
He frowned slightly. “Both what?”
“His dream and yours,” she replied. “Just… in a different way.”
Heavy leaned against the counter, loosely folding his arms. “How that work?”
Cyren lifted her shoulders. . “I don’t know all the details, but you said he started something, right? That doesn’t mean you have to finish it exactly how he pictured it. You have to reach the goal in whatever way it fits you.”
“Trying to live up to something somebody else already built is pressure like a mothafucka,” he truthfully confessed.
Cyren nodded. “Yeah, it probably is. But ignoring it doesn’t make it go away either.”
He knew that. That’s the reason Mama Dot had been on his line about slowly moving his feet. She wanted to see him flourish just as much as Gramps did. Cyren took another bite of her food and cleared her throat.
“I don’t know. I guess I look at life a bit differently now. If it’s something you want to do, then just do it. You literally create the life you want. The only thing stopping you is you.”
