“He fucks with Tish?” Gabi asked as they waited in the short line.
So, that’s Tish. Cyren now had a face to match the name that called him that day in her aunt’s driveway. She hadn’t crossed her mind since.
“I don’t know. Who is she?”
“This cold stripper that works at Façade.” Of course, Gabi knew who she was and what she did.
“Mm,” was all Cyren grunted, trying to seem unfazed, but her heart was saying otherwise. It was doing somersaults and not in the happy-go-lucky way.
“Get out of those feelings,” Gabi said as they entered the restroom. “You know a nigga gon’ always be a nigga.”
She had a point, but why did it have to be Heavy? And why did Tish have to approach them and ruin the illusion she had in her head? Single people doing not-so-single people things with each other were bound to get their feelings hurt. It didn’t matter how close they’d grown; Cyren wasn’t his, and he wasn’t hers. As she emptied her bladder, she begged her emotions to get on thesame page as her mind, because right now, they were betraying her in the worst way.
12
“If you don’t like this one in person, we can always look for something else,” Whitnee said through the other end of Cyren’s phone. “Or have them show you other layouts.”
Cyren’s bladder woke her up to pee, just in time to answer her cousin’s call. She flushed and washed her hands while Whitnee clicked away at the keyboard. Cyren didn’t know why she was up so early working, especially on a weekend, but she wasn’t complaining.
“I like it,” Cyren reassured. “I looked at all the pictures and videos online.”
Rubbing her tired eyes, Cyren adjusted one of Heavy’s oversized gray shirts, swallowing her frame. The hem brushed the tops of her thighs, and her scarf was halfway off her head thanks to some great sex-induced sleep. Given how they turned up at the club the night before, she was surprised she remembered to put it on.
“Okay, good,” Whitnee sighed, contentedly. “Do you want me to have someone come out and clean it before you get here, or do you want to wait?”
Although it probably would’ve taken some of the load off, Cyren was eager to clean her new home herself. It had been way too many months since she could blast her music and get to work, scrubbing, mopping, and cleaning the way she wanted to.
“You can wait. I’ll do everything once I get there,” Cyren answered, applying toothpaste to her toothbrush. “You’ve already done so much.”
Whitnee smacked her lips. “Oh, girl, please. You’re my cousin. It’s nothing. Just wait until we go furniture shopping. I already plan on doing the most.”
“Oh, goodness.” Cyren chuckled as she brushed.
Whitnee was thoughtful in ways people overlooked because doing for others came so naturally to her. She remembered birthdays, checked in randomly, and sent opportunities without making people feel like charity cases. She was happy Cyren was moving closer and couldn’t wait to spend time with her.
“The neighborhood is nice, too,” Whitnee continued. “There’s a walking trail nearby, a coffee shop I think you’d like, and you won’t be too far from me if you need anything.”
If you need anything.
The simplicity of her words made Cyren’s chest ache.
She swallowed around the tightness climbing her throat. “Thank you, Whit. I mean it.”
“You don’t have to thank me, boo,” Whitnee softly said. “One day, you’ll stop acting surprised every time someone loves on you.”
Cyren’s eyes burned unexpectedly. Before losing her mama, receiving real love and care felt normal. It was expected. Now, every kind gesture felt borrowed, as if it were only temporary before she had to give it back to the sender.
“One day,” Cyren murmured, thinking of one person in particular.
“Yes, one day. I’m lowkey jealous,” Whitnee groaned.
Cyren slightly frowned. “Of me?”
“Mhm.” Whitnee softly laughed. “Girl, I wish I could just pick up and move around the world the way you do. Experience different places. Meet different people. You be on the move.”
Cyren chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor behind it.
People always said that. Like movement meant freedom instead of survival. Like packing up pieces of herself and starting over was bravery and not loneliness. Nothing and no one had felt quite like home in a long time. Not after her mama passed. Home used to be a person before it was a place. Since then, Cyren had been bouncing around trying to recreate a feeling she couldn’t get back.
