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Devon stands there for a minute, head hung, like he’s trying to decide if he’s going to let himself believe Kwame. The hardest things to believe in are those you hope the most to be true. That’s some irony.
“You ready to head back?”
“Yeah, but I wanna holla at you about something,” Devon says.
“Here? Now?” Kwame asks, fighting an instant low-level dread. Nothing good usually follows someone telling you they need to talk to you about something. And the tombstones aren’t helping on the foreboding front.
“Yeah, I just told Mama, and now I want to tell you. Let’s walk a minute?”
Kwame doesn’t have time for the walk, but he avoids checking to see how many minutes he doesn’t have, and they head for a path that winds to the chapel and the parking lot.
“So? Don’t keep me in suspense. Wassup?”
“Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to tell you… I’m moving out.”
“Hold up, really?”
“Yeah, man, it’s time.”
“Where are you going?”
There’s no way Dev could cover a security deposit and monthly rent on his minimum-wage income, even if he had been saving.
“Well, that’s the other thing. I met someone—at work.” It’s clear that Devon doesn’t even realize he’s smiling all shyly. Kwame’s reminded of the little boy who confessed his crush on Tamika Wilkens in fifth grade. Same sheepish grin. “She’s real cool. And I’m moving in to her spot.”
“Dude. How am I just now hearing about all this?”
“Uh, you’ve been a little distracted, but it’s all good. Also, it’s only been a couple months with ole girl and I didn’t want to say anything till I knew it was real, ya feel me? I’m so out of practice with all this, man. It’s not like the females are out here writing notes anymore like, will you go with me, like they were when I was last on the scene. But check it—she did come on to me. Straight up asked me on a date! I’m here for this modern-woman shit.”
“That’s dope. She pay for dinner too?” Kwame asks, laughing.
“She probably would’ve if I let her, but I know better. Then I had to tell her about my situation. You know, being locked up and all. Make sure she was cool with that. And she didn’t bat an eye. Said she already knew; she heard the podcast. So thanks, man. You’re like a wingman through the radio.”
“I’m glad you two are vibing, but moving in is kinda fast?”
“Eh, it’s a, when you know, you know type a thing.”
Kwame knows a little something about that. Like the first time he made a certain someone laugh out loud so hard she spit a half-eaten french fry onto the table between them. Her adorable mortification, the way it revealed itself in her dimples.
Devon loops an arm around Kwame and pulls him into a half hug, a physical gesture to say, Sorry I’m leaving you.
“I’m happy for you, Dev. For real.” There’s happiness there for sure, but also a thin, nasty film on top contaminating its purity. Jealousy is such a petty, pointless emotion—Kwame’s reluctant to cop to it.
“Thanks. I feel this is my shot—love, kids, the whole nine. I didn’t ever think I was going to get that. It’s… it’s…” Devon looks close to crying, presumably why he can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence.
Kwame extends an arm to pull him into a full embrace. “You deserve it.”
“Wouldn’t none of it be happening without you. Don’t think I don’t think about that every day.”
“Stop with all that. Now, what’s this lucky lady’s name?”
“Rochelle.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
“And I bet you can’t wait to have me outta your hair, or what’s left of it. It’s about time you got your space back, man. Beyond time. I’ve been cramping your style long enough. Now you can find your own homegirl to take my place. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t rather Netflix and chill every night with someone who’s not bald?”
“Is that a hint?”
