Chapter fourteen
Later that night on the thirteenth.
Zio
When Brent showed up with our friend Felicia, I knew he was using me as an excuse to spend time with her. I had to have my boys back. I introduced her to Sky and let them in. I wish I wouldn’t have now…
“It’s a yearly simulation,” Brent said, pacing the length of my rug like he was delivering closing arguments to a jury. “Niggas in relationships all of a sudden become Shakespeare and Santa Claus, handing out gifts and acting brand new just because the calendar says so.”
Felicia didn't even look up from her phone, though the corner of her mouth quirked. “You literally bought me a gift, Brent. Calm down.”
Sky, who had been leaning against the kitchen island with her arms folded over my oversized graphic tee, turned her full attention to them. “Oh, he bought you a gift?”
Brent didn’t miss a beat. He shook his head, waving a hand. “That don’t count. I bought a gift for Zio too. I’m rich. I buy things.”
“You gave me roses too,” Felicia added, her voice dropping into a honey-sweet register. She was taunting him.
“That don’t mean nothing.”
“You wrote a sweet note.”
“Don’t mean nothing either! You’re one of my oldest friends, Fee. Don't make the shit weird.”
I felt Sky’s elbow nudge my side. I looked down, and she was watching them like she was witnessing a train wreck in slow motion. I lowered my voice, leaning into her space so only she could hear.
“He is in love with her,” I whispered. I could understand why he was.
She was a teacher and was filled with this peaceful energy, petite but curvy, dark-skinned, with a pixie cut that framed her pretty face just right.
She had one of those smiles that made you feel like everything was gonna be okay.
Sky’s brows shot up. “Oh?”
“He pretends he doesn’t,” I added, watching Brent nearly trip over a decorative pillow. “Because he’s scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“He’s like you,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Running from commitment for no reason.”
Across the room, Brent was still performing, acting like he wasn’t already gone over Fee.
“It’s fake pressure! You’re supposed to outdo the next man because it’s February fourteenth?
Flowers cost triple. Restaurants are packed with couples who haven't spoken nice to each other in months. Everybody posting captions they don’t even mean. ”
“You sound like Sky,” I interrupted, raising my voice to cut through his rant. “She doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day either.”
“As she should! I believe in consistency,” Brent replied, pointing a finger at me. “If I rock with you, I rock with you. I don’t need a specific Tuesday or a red heart emoji to validate my presence in your life.”
Felicia leaned back against the arm of the couch, her gaze steady. “But you still bought roses on the thirteenth. That’s a Valentine’s thing, Brent.”
“Because I felt like it,” he countered, his voice rising an octave. “Had nothing to do with the date. Total coincidence.”
Sky let out a short laugh before she could stop herself, but she stepped in to give Brent an out. “I mean, it does feel performative,” she offered.
Brent clapped once, loudly. “Exactly!”
I shook my head, shifting my weight. “Both of y’all are just too histrionic.”
Sky turned to me. “You’re the one who made a reservation and bought a dress and shoes, acting like it’s more than just another day. It’s not even like an anniversary or something. If we're talking about drama…”
“He bought you a dress and shoes, sis?” Felicia asked, her grin widening.
Brent whistled low, shaking his head. “My boy is in deep. Submerged. Can’t even see the surface deep.”
Sky’s face flushed. “I told him it was unnecessary.”
Brent opened his mouth to say something stupid, but I stepped forward, cutting him off before he could get a word out.
“It wasn’t unnecessary,” I said. “It’s intentional.”
The word hung in the air. Felicia turned to Brent, her eyes narrowed. “So, why did you buy me and Zio gifts, but only mine the day before Valentine’s? What’s the intention behind that?”
“Because that’s my nigga and I just happened to see him earlier than you,” Brent said, gesturing to me.
“And I’m what?” Felicia asked. She was pushing him now, forcing him to say the quiet part out loud.
Brent hesitated. The bravado wore on his sleeve wasn’t helping him right now. For a split second, I saw the sweat on his brow as he stared into the abyss of his own feelings. He looked like he was about to run.
Sky clocked it immediately. On some commitment-phobe camaraderie type shit, she stepped in to save him from the ledge.
“Do y’all want to play karaoke?” she asked.
Brent blinked, looking like a man who had just been granted a stay of execution. “What?”
She was already digging into her backpack, pulling out two wireless microphones like she was unveiling contraband.
“Why do you have a backpack with karaoke equipment?” Felicia asked, genuinely baffled.
“Preparedness,” Sky replied, her face deadpan.
Brent squinted at the mics. “You just… carry microphones around? In the streets?”
“She makes me play at her house,” I said from the kitchen, grabbing the orange juice. “I don't ask questions anymore.”
“Of course she does,” Brent muttered.
Five minutes later, lyrics were scrolling across the TV. Sky started it off, fully committed, eyes closed, singing Aretha’s “Respect” like she was headlining a sold-out tour. She couldn’t sing worth shit. Felicia joined in, and she could actually sing.
Brent pretended to resist when it was his turn. He sat on the edge of the couch, looking at the mic like it was a live grenade.
By the third track, the "consistency" advocate was standing in the middle of my rug, yelling the lyrics to “Misery Business” like it was a personal anthem. I didn’t even know he knew the song.
Sky was laughing so hard she had to lean against the wall to breathe. But Felicia wasn't laughing. She was just watching him. That look—I recognized it. She wanted him. She was doing what sky would call, yearning.
Sky found her way back to my side, bumping her shoulder into mine. “You see this?” she whispered.
“I’ve been seeing it for the last ten years,” I whispered back.
“You think they’ll ever—”
“Yeah,” I cut her off softly, watching Brent toss the mic back onto the couch as the song ended. “Eventually. When they get tired of their own acting.”
Across the room, Brent looked at Felicia. For a second, he looked like he wanted to confess every single thing he’d been running from.
He didn't. Not tonight.
I already knew—it was going to take at least another year before they stopped pretending. Maybe next Valentine’s Day.