5. Jahsir
jahsir
. . .
Mulholland Falls was a sight at night. It was alive and bursting with energy.
And now, with the evening settling gently over the city, the sky glowed a deep, dusky blue.
The lights from the buildings nearby twinkled like scattered stars.
And while the city was brewing with energy, my loft was everything but that.
This evening it was warm, quiet, and peaceful.
Crimson sat on the couch with one leg tucked beneath her as the other rested lightly on the edge of the coffee table.
Scarlett was fast asleep on her chest, her tiny hand curled in the fabric of Red’s shirt.
Her soft breaths, rising and falling in rhythm with her mother’s.
They wore silky teal matching bonnets. Balanced delicately to one side was Crimson’s sketchpad, angled so she could still draw without disturbing the baby’s sleep.
And I’d never seen anything so mesmerizing.
I went into the kitchen and returned with a cup of her favorite ginger-honey tea, careful not to speak too soon. I didn’t want to break her peacefulness. I set it down on the side table without a word, and only then did she glance up.
She smiled. “You’re spoiling me, Jahsir.”
“You deserve it.”
She shifted slightly, just enough to move her pencil to the page’s corner. Scarlett stirred, then settled again. Red paused, looking at her. She smiled then looked back at me, probably happy she didn't wake her.
“Bae,” she said softly. “I want to thank you for taking care of me over these last several weeks. I'm so lucky to have you here. Scarlett, you treat her like she's your own. Just, thank you, Jahsir, I mean it.”
“I got you. I love you. Anything you need, just let me know.”
She hesitated for a moment as her fingers brushed the curve of Scarlett’s back. “Well… I just need another week or so to find another job. I've been thinking. And even with therapy going so well, I can't go back into that bank. I just can't.”
“It’s okay,” I said, scooting closer. “Take all the time you need. How are you feeling now? Are you up for a ride?”
She let out a low laugh. “Ooh, I don’t know. If Scarlett wakes up, then falls back asleep in the car, she's going to want to play all night. I’m always so exhausted, Jah.”
“You let me worry about Scarlett,” I said with a smile. “Come on, you down? We can stop and get some chicharrónes on the way back. Lil bit of guacamole with it.”
She smirked, trying to fight it, but I saw the spark and old glimmer in her eyes.
It wasn’t just the chicharrónes. It was the nudge.
The reminder that she could still step outside herself for a moment, even with everything she was carrying.
She fumbled with her pencil, then her eyes drifted toward the terrace, her safe place.
Then, slowly, I watched her shoulders drop, and her breathing deepened.
“Yeah, I’m down,” she said finally. “Let me slide something on.”
“Don’t think I ain’t peep that the only reason you agreed is because I mentioned food,” I teased her.
Dressed in sweats, a tank, and her Nike slides, Crimson finally left the loft after being cooped up for at least six weeks.
The closest she’d gotten to being outside was sitting on the terrace and that one therapy appointment she attended in person.
But even then, it was car to building, and back again.
She’d had no real interaction with the outside world.
She made me and my loft her security blanket.
And while I enjoyed having her wrapped around me, I wanted Crimson to get back to her life.
She couldn’t do that if I were selfish enough to keep her close.
While driving, I held her hand. She let me, her fingers loosely curling in mine.
Scarlett babbled in the backseat, making it up as she went along.
She’d been doing that more lately, which was a sign of how much she was growing and how much she enjoyed daycare.
I kept my eyes on the road and filled the silence with small talk, trying to keep Crimson’s head clear.
I caught her up on the reality housewife show she loved so much.
She laughed a few times and complimented me on my dedication to her show.
But still, she was distracted, mostly just nodding.
Her gaze was fixed on the world outside the window.
The conversation faded as we turned into the lot.
Crimson’s shoulders stiffened as we pulled in further.
The bass from a car speaker vibrated through the pavement.
Laughter echoed somewhere off to the right.
A group of teens leaned against a shiny Benz, lit by the glow of their phones.
I could feel her anxiety even before I saw her react.
The noise, the laughter, and the flashing lights were overwhelming for her.
She flinched at a sudden burst of shouting, even though it was playful.
I saw her hands ball into fists before she forced them flat again.
When we got out of the car, I could see the terror on Crimson’s face.
Her eyes flicked across the parking lot, as if she were bracing for something to jump out at her.
The robbery and isolation had made her more paranoid than she used to be.
She always scanned for exits, which was nothing new, but now she watched people’s hands.
Her grip on my arm tightened, and she took short, hesitant steps as I led her into the place.
She eased up the minute I closed the door behind her.
The way this moment was about to unfold, I knew she’d remember it forever.
I watched as she looked around, tracing the lines of the room with her eyes.
I took a double take, too, remembering why I thought this place was perfect in the first place.
The walls were a mix of clean white paint and weathered brick, high ceilings with exposed beams, soft lighting that pooled instead of glaring.
And the earth tones grounded everything; it made a statement.
“Where are we, Jah?” She asked as she walked further in. “This place is beautiful. I just love the exposed brick and the earthy tones. And I love how some of the walls are white. Just gorgeous.”
“It’s beautiful, right? Perfect place for Crème De La Crimson.”
“Yeah, it definitely is,” she sighed. Then I saw the realization hit her. Her eyes lit up, looking back at me as she realized she was standing in her own boutique. She finally caught wind of the Bernina Luxe Plus in the corner and headed over to it. I followed her.
“You didn’t. Oh my Go- Jah. You… you did this for me?”
“You’re too talented to be punching somebody’s clock, Bae. You were never going back to the bank.”
Crimson dropped her head and bawled. I pulled her into a hug and let her tears stain my shirt. For the first time in weeks, they weren’t tears of sadness. Instead, she released tears of joy, relief, gratitude, and possibly hope.
“This is amazing. You are amazing, Jahsir. Thank you so much.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No. Jah. It's everything. You're everything to me. But… what if it doesn’t work out? Like, what if nobody buys my stuff? What if they only come to me during prom season? What if I get a rude customer and they blast me on social media, and nobody wants to work with me?”
“Or, Red… what if it all works out?”
She chuckled. “That sounds like something Hadiya would say.” She turned toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I slid mine around her waist and said,
“Yeah, she told me if you ever start to spiral, I should ask you: what if it all works out?”
“You talkin’ to my therapist behind my back, huh? I’mma have to fire her.”
“I told her I was your husband, so she had no choice,” I joked.
“Hadiya knows we’re not married,” she added, settling into my chest with her hands moving to my back.
“Shit, not yet.”
We were joking. She knew Hadiya had given me tips on how to help her with her anxiety.
She also knew I didn’t really tell her we were married.
But the shift in my tone told her how serious I was about marrying her one day.
She didn’t say anything right away. Instead, her fingers stilled at the back of my neck, holding there like she wasn’t sure whether to lean in or pull away.
Then, without looking up, she murmured, “Don’t play like that, Jah.”
“When have you ever known me to play about you?” I said.
She rested her forehead against my chest for a second, then pulled back just enough to breathe. “I love you, Jah.”
“I love you, too.”