23. Everly
( The Present )
It was funny to me how, years ago, we moved away from cable to the promise of cheaper streaming services that claimed to offer more options for our viewing entertainment, only to end up spending as much money as we did on cable and finding as little to watch. Sighing, I tossed the remote on my nightstand and flopped back on my pillows. If I were being honest with myself, I’d admit that it wouldn’t have mattered what came across my screen. The only entertainment I was interested in came packed in a delectable, six-foot-four package. Montréal Hamilton hadn’t been in touch and after last night, I didn’t know if he would be. I shouldn’t be messed up about that, but he was right. I was feeling way more than what was safe for my sanity.
Suddenly, one of my phones vibrated from the nightstand. For one second, my heart rate sped up as reluctant hope unfolded inside of me. That hope was quickly crushed when I realized that it was my family phone ringing. I lifted it and couldn’t help smiling when I saw Pip’s name. Swiping, I hurriedly answered her video call.
“Everly Love,” she sang in a playful voice, her pretty face suddenly appearing.
I smiled at her silly self, glad to hear from my cousin/bestie.
“Hey, Epiphany Faith. How are you?”
Pip shrugged. “This call is about you. Well, about you and that gorgeous gift from God named Montréal Hamilton. Matter of fact, I thought you took this next week off for your birthday. Why aren’t you riding to Canada right now?” she asked coyly.
See, this lady knew how to brighten my mood immediately.
“First of all, corny ass girl, that sounds like some mess Aunt Cynt would say. Second of all, you don’t even know what he looks like,” I scolded, grinning.
“I probably sound like my TeTe cuz I miss her, and you know damn well I googled Mr. Montréal the minute you mentioned him and again when you went past a year… ‘involved.’”
Surprised, I just held the phone for a few seconds before sighing.
“Well, it won’t be much past a year at this rate. We had a disagreement,” I mumbled.
“The wonderful spirit of Epiphany never fails. I knew I needed to call. What’s up, cousin?”
For the next several minutes, I spilled everything to her. How Real tested all my boundaries and rules. How I didn’t mind as much as I should. How his behavior seemed to be leaning toward wanting something else… almost.
“Almost?” Pip laughed softly. “It ‘almost’ seems like he wants something else? Cousin, you can’t be that dense. He took you to meet his mama?—"
“He wanted me to try her food,” I pointed out.
“He doesn’t like seeing you with other men,” she pressed.
I shook my head. “He just thinks I’m violating our agreement.”
“He’s breaking all your rules.”
“He’s a rebel. That’s what they do.”
“Ugh!” Pip sighed dramatically. “Everly! Why can’t you accept that that man and you are catching feelings beyond that agreement?”
I shrugged. “That’s not allowed, and I don’t have time.”
“Ev—"
“Plus, did you miss the part where I said he made me promise no strings ever and also told me that it wasn’t that deep?”
“Everly—"
I held up a finger as my other phone rang. Picking it up, I was surprised to see Real’s name. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I stared at the screen.
“That stuck look on your face lets me know who that is. Call me back, heffa.”
I nodded and dropped that phone to answer the other. I pressed my lips together hard to plump them before swiping. Fixing my face into a serious look, I waited for the video to connect. I fought the urge to bite my lip as he appeared. His stubborn ass just stared at me for a minute. He looked settled in for the night in a wave cap and white A-shirt, lying on his back with a hand splayed across his chest.
“Hey,” I said, then cursed silently at how breathless I sounded.
“I’m surprised you answered,” he rumbled.
“I’m surprised you called,” I countered.
That earned me another stare. I shifted uncomfortably. He coughed, not the awkward, silence-filling one, but a real one followed by a sniff.
“You sick?”
He scoffed. “Ain’t shit.”
“What you doing for your lunch tomorrow?”
The question caught me so off-guard that I blurted the truth.
“I’m off, so I don’t know yet.”
His heavy-lidded eyes opened a little wider. All this damn looking! Finally, my lips parted, ready to let my aggravation spill out.
“I’ma pick you up around ten-thirty, then,” he said suddenly.
“Real… wait, what? No!”
“Ten-thirty. Be ready. I ain’t playing with yo’ ass and don’t keep me waiting.”
“No, this is about to stop. You all out of order and I’m not?—"
“Good night, love.”
He hung up on me—really hung up on me—and wouldn’t answer my first call back. He picked up the second time.
“Real—"
“You good?” he interrupted.
I frowned. “What?”
“I’m tryna rest and ignore yo’ ass, but I can’t do that with you calling like there’s a problem.”
“You should’ve put your phone on Do Not Disturb and made sure I was on the list not to get through,” I snapped.
There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “If I did that shit, how would I know if you needed me?”
My mouth fell open, and all my protests evaporated. This man kept leaving me speechless.
“So, again, you good?”
Sighing, I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
“Good. Get off my line.”
He hung up again, rude ass. I cursed him out as I got ready for bed, then slid between my sheets…
I don’t know why I smiled.
I ain’t playing with yo’ ass and don’t keep me waiting , his bossy ass had said. Well, the next morning, I kept him waiting, even after I got up early enough for a light breakfast. He texted me to dress casually as hell and told me that he wanted to see my freckles. When I finally came downstairs, the boring little brown dots he found so fascinating were concealed, but I’d listened to him about the outfit. I wore a t-shirt with my sorority’s letters emblazoned on it, some jeans that hugged every curve of my thighs and legs, and a pair of red and white dunks. I looked at him as I dropped my phone and keys in my Tory Burch bucket. Quiet reigned as I stared up at him. Kissing my teeth, I broke the silence.
“I’m not going until you tell me where we’re headed.”
“I mean, you going. Just depends on if you want to ride in the front seat or ride in the trunk,” he responded nonchalantly.
I gasped. He’d never said anything like that to me before. Was he serious? Did he do things like that? I thought about the situation with Aaqil. Hell yeah, he did things like that.
“Montréal—"
His gorgeous smile stopped my outrage. I watched as he opened my door and stepped back.
“I’m just saying, you being annoying, love. You already down here ready to go, so why try to start something?”
I pursed my lips but preceded him out the door and waited for him to make sure the house was secure. He led me to his car, a shiny black Porsche Boxster. I scoffed at the thought of me in either of the tiny front or back trunks, then almost jumped out of my skin when his lips grazed my ear.
“You fold into a pretzel well, mama. You’d fit.”
For that act of mind reading, I didn’t speak to him for the first 15 minutes of our ride. Then, determined to be messy, I asked, “Do you really put people in trunks, Mr. Hamilton?”
He side-eyed me. “I promise I haven’t put anyone in the trunk, Ms. Hill… of this car.”
Yeah, he knew how to shut me up. He also knew how to delight me, I realized minutes later, when we pulled up in front of Oscar’s Vintage Volumes and Vinyl. Two stories of vintage books and records? I couldn’t even hide my smile. I waited for him to open my door, then hurried past him. Real grabbed my wrist, and I looked over my shoulder.
“I ain’t got no money, so when we go in here, don’t look at nothing, don’t touch nothing, and don’t ask for nothing,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes and pointed at my bag. “Whatever.”
I almost fainted when we walked in. Rows and shelves beckoned me. I was headed toward a display when Oscar materialized from a side room. A big grin appeared beneath his bushy, salt-and-pepper mustache.
“I was wondering why it got so bright in here all of a sudden. Real, you brought the sunshine!” he thundered.
I couldn’t help smiling as I stared over my shoulder at Real. His upper lip curled in disgust.
“You lame as fuck for real, huh?” he insulted Oscar.
I rolled my eyes. “Montréal!”
Oscar waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about him, baby girl. All that class his mama and auntie got, and this is how he acts.”
He walked over and hugged me. “Watch this,” he whispered. Then, his voice rose. “Damn, girl! You feel as good as you look.”
“Oscar, please don’t make me shoot you over my girl,” Real groused.
Oscar laughed heartily before beginning to explain the store layout to me. But I couldn’t hear him. Real’s words had me stuck. His girl? That’s the last thing I was. Biting my lip, I decided I was putting too much meaning into it.
“Why you stop?” Real asked as he drew even with me.
Inclining my head toward Oscar, I tuned in to what the store owner was saying. A minute later, I was making my way around the bottom floor and the circulating staff, my eyes wide as they greedily took in alphabetized vintage records carefully preserved in sleeves. Names from Arthur Alexander and Louis Armstrong to Lauryn Hill and Billie Holiday to Dinah Washington and Ethel Waters popped out at me. My mind buzzed with all the artists I wanted to go back to inspect more closely.
“Breathe,” Real said softly, making me realize I had been holding my breath.
Turning, I couldn’t help pushing my body into his and hugging him.
“How did you know?” I asked.
His arms eased around me, and he bent to kiss my forehead.
“You play Alexa when I get there, but you always have to turn off the record player in that old-school stereo console you have first. Even with the streaming music, you play old stuff,” he explained.
I smiled at the thought that he’d paid that much attention to my love of vinyl and older music.
“I wasn’t expecting?—”
“You should. You should expect… more.”
He pulled back and grazed my cheek with his knuckles before tilting my chin. I met his warm, copper-brown eyes. I didn’t know what to make of what I saw there. I tried to back up, but he held me tightly.
“Real—”
“You don’t ever want more than what those rules allow, love?” he persisted.
“I’m good,” I said.
I lied . Oh, God, I was lying, and I think he knew it. It was in those eyes, in the sudden smirk twisting his beautiful lips. My heart was beating so hard that I imagined the shape of it extruding from my chest like some old cartoon. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.
“You good?” he mocked. “Well, I’m not. I want more than that. I want more with y?—”
“Find anything you like? For God’s sake, Real, you can’t keep your hands to yourself for an hour?” Oscar scolded.
I broke away, relief swamping me as my gaze returned to the vinyl collection.
“Yes! So many I want to look at, and I haven’t even made it to the books!” I directed at Oscar.
“This conversation is not over, love.”
I didn’t acknowledge Real’s soft promise.
But I heard it.