I studied her face, searching for hesitation and finding exhaustion instead. “You’ve been sitting with this by yourself?”
“For a few days.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because you got enough going on.”
She was right, I did, but I would still be there for her just like she was always there for me. “That doesn’t mean you go through something like this alone.”
“I’m not going through it. I’m handling it.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.” She lifted her mimosa and drank some more before spilling the rest of it on accident when she went to sit the glass down. Tasha stared at the spill. “I don’t want a baby,” she said more quietly. “Not like this and not with him. I’m not about to tie myself to somebody like him.”
I grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the table. “You don’t have to explain your choice to me. I mean I’m disappointed you put yourself in the situation. That’s different from me judging what you decide to do about it.” I reached across the table, covering her hand with mine. “You want me to go with you tomorrow?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.” A faint smile touched her lips. “I already arranged everything. My cousin’s taking me.” She squeezed my fingers. “I don’t want a whole production. I want to go, get it done, come home, take some pain pills, and watch television until I fall asleep.”
“Then I’ll come over afterward.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Her eyes shined for half a second before she blinked and looked away. “Well, if you insist at least bring food.”
I furrowed my brows and chuckled. “You just said you don’t want a production.”
She waved me off. “Food is not a production, food is care.”
“What do you want?”
“Chicken wings and macaroni.”
“You’re asking for a full meal.” I laughed softly, grateful when she did too.
The rest of lunch went by and the laughter returned. Tasha finally ate a few bites of pasta after I threatened to ask the waiter for a takeout box and hand feed her in the parking lot. She complained that the Parmesan was now hard while she was having a crisis, then ordered cheesecake because she believed emotional announcements was a good cause for a good dessert.
Afterward, we walked through the shopping district as we wandered into stores neither of us could afford to shop in regularly and touched fabrics like we had been sent there to approve them. Tasha tried on a pair of sunglasses large enough to cover half her face and asked whether they made her look mysterious.
“They make you look like a fly.”
“A rich fly?”
“A fly with good credit.”
She bought them anyway and then I found a soft blue dress I liked, but after checking the price tag twice, I put it back. By the time we made it back to the car, my trunk held shopping bags, and the heaviness from lunch still had me full.
I dropped Tasha off with a promise to call later and watched until she disappeared through the front door of her building. Only then did I let myself worry, about the way she had been dealing with her shit alone. By the time I reached my apartment, the day had settled into evening. The sky had turned a deep bluish gray, with the last strip of sunlight fading behind the buildings and it was my favorite time of the day. I checked the parking lot before getting out, scanning for Rome’s car out of habit but saw nothing.
Once inside, I locked the door and carried the shopping bags to my bedroom. The apartment felt so calm and clean, so I showered taking my time, letting hot water wash the massage oil from my skin. Afterward, I rubbed vanilla body oil over my arms and legs, pulled on an oversized T-shirt, my pink robe, andfluffy bedroom shoes before wrapping my hair in a silk scarf. I lit two candles in the living room, one on the kitchen counter and another on the small table near the couch and then turned off the overhead lights.
A warm amber glow took over the apartment. I poured a glass of water, and tucked myself underneath a throw blanket, before stretching out on the couch with no intention of doing anything more demanding than finding a movie I had already seen.
The first kick against the door made me sit right up and the second one rattled the damn frame. “Navyyyy!” His voice dragged across my name and another kick landed against the lower half of the door. “Open this damn door.”
I closed my eyes hearing Rome’s voice and anger consumed me before fear had the chance. I threw the blanket aside and crossed the room, looking through the peephole. Rome leaned against the opposite wall with his head bowed. One hand hung loosely at his side while the other lifted toward my door and missed it completely and struck the frame. His suit jacket was wrinkled, his dress shirt was untucked on one side, and his tie hung loose around his neck. Even through the door, I could tell he was drunk enough to barely hold himself upright.
