Chapter 7 Jabali #2
I moved before he finished. My hand fisted in the front of his jacket, and I slammed him into the endcap of canned yams. Not enough to make a full scene, but enough to get his attention. A couple of cans fell. One older lady down the aisle looked up, then decided she didn’t see anything.
Deon’s eyes went wide. “Hey, chill, bruh—”
“No. You chill,” I said quietly. Then, I leaned in close enough that he could feel every word I was going to speak next.
“You don’t get to talk about her. Not like that.
Not in front of me. You was one of the main ones running your mouth back then.
Causing the shit on that stage. You remember that? ”
He swallowed. “We was kids. We all laughed,” he muttered.
“I didn’t. She didn’t. And let me be real clear, since we grown now.
She’s not your little town joke anymore.
She wasn’t then, either, but y’all didn’t see it.
You see her now with money and land and a closed gate, and y’all mad.
That’s cool. Y’all can be mad. But if I hear you or anybody else talking sideways about her where I can hear it, we gon’ have a different kind of problem. ”
I tightened my grip once, shook the fuck out of him, then let him go. He stayed pinned to the shelf anyway, rubbing his chest as he stared at me.
“You act like she didn’t shut you out too,” he whined.
There it was. A little flash of that old petty Deon. I smiled. It wasn’t a nice one.
“Nothing about us is your business. Just remember that.”
I didn’t raise my voice, didn’t change my face. But he got it.
“Damn. You in your feelings,” he finally mumbled.
“Yeah, I am. And now you know where they at.”
I turned, walked to the registers, and let the cashier ring up the bouquets. My mind was racing, but not from dealing with Deon’s ass. Taniyah’s words rang in my head. She couldn’t hate you so much if she didn’t love you so much.
If I was willing to put Deon through a shelf over her name ten years later, maybe I needed to admit something on my end too.
Instead, I grabbed the flowers, nodded at the cashier, and headed out.
The drive to the hill felt different with the bouquets on the passenger seat.
The line where the town lights stopped and the hill started looked less like some wall I’d never climb.
I was scaling that mothafucka starting today. At the gate, I hit the intercom.
“Grindley residence,” Mr. Benton’s voice came through, formal as ever.
“It’s Jabali Christopher,” I said. “I’m here to see Ms. Grindley. She’s expecting me.”
There was a pause. Then, “Yes, sir. Proceed.”
The gate rolled open. I drove up the long, winding driveway, the big house sitting at the top like something out of a movie. I parked, took a second to check the flowers, and got out. I made my way to the door, knocked, and waited.
This time, when it swung open, it wasn’t Mr. Benton in the frame. It was Aziza. She stood there in a long-sleeve shirt with tiny snowflakes on it, jeans, and socks with little reindeer faces on the toes. Her coils were in two puffs, red ribbons tied around them. Her eyes were big and curious.
“Hi,” she greeted.
Jesus, she was perfect. I wanted to hug her. I squeezed the suddenly-heavy bouquets instead.
“Hey. You supposed to be opening doors for people?” I chided softly.
She tilted her head. “Mr. Benton was right there,” she said, pointing behind her. “He said I could answer.”
Mr. Benton appeared over her shoulder. “I did, sir,” he confirmed. “The young miss is under careful supervision.”
I smiled. “Good to know the security’s tight.”
Aziza’s gaze dropped to my hands. “Who you got flowers for?”
“One for you, one for your mama. If that’s okay,” I explained.
She lit up in a way that made something in my chest hurt. Curls bouncing, she nodded eagerly.
“It’s very okay. They so pretty.”
“May I come in?” I asked.
“Oh! Yes, sir. Welcome to the Grindley residence,” she greeted seriously, stepping back like she was mimicking Mr. Benton.
“Very good, Miss,” he praised, his voice formal but full of affection.
Chuckling, I stepped into the foyer. The space by the stairs was still empty, like it was waiting. The house smelled like vanilla and lemon and something good cooking.
“Ms. Grindley is in the front sitting room,” Mr. Benton said. “Shall I announce you?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll find my way. Thank you.”
Aziza walked beside me, bouncing a little. “You got me flowers,” she said again, like she was still processing it.
I smiled down at her little upturned face. Her eyes were all me, I noted smugly. “Of course. Ladies of the house supposed to have their own flowers.”
“What kind are they?” she asked, nose almost in the bouquet.
“Those? Umm… I’on know, shorty. I see sunflowers, daisies, and some ones I don’t know the name of. I just picked the prettiest ones.”
She giggled. “They match me,” she said.
I loved that confidence.
“They do,” I agreed.
We reached the living room. The doors were already open.
Kyleigh was on the sofa, knees together, hands clasped like she’d been sitting there talking to herself or praying.
Max lay across her feet, snoozing. When she looked up and saw us, her whole face changed.
There was softness and love for Aziza, then fear and annoyance as her gaze landed on me.
She looked beautiful; I wanted to reach out and touch her in ways I should not be thinking about with a nine-year-old in the room.
She wore black leggings that hugged her thick thighs and a soft green sweater that made her skin glow even more.
Her locs were pulled back, but a few had escaped and framed her face.
She had lip gloss on. No heavy makeup. She didn’t need it.
I’d thought about her so much over the years that seeing her, real and here, fucked with me hard.
“Hey. You look… nice,” I gave her a lukewarm compliment, wary of saying the wrong thing.
Her gaze dropped to the flowers. “Look at you. You brought props,” she observed dryly.
“For you,” I said, crossing the room and holding out the more understated bouquet. Max growled at me. I ignored it. “And for her.”
I handed the bright bouquet to Aziza. She hugged it to her chest like it was a trophy.
“Oh,” Kyleigh said, taking hers. Her fingers brushed mine for half a second, and the contact tingled. She felt it, too, her eyes shooting to mine before she cleared her throat. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“You’re welcome.” Crouching, I held out a hand to Max. He eyeballed me before hesitantly sniffing, then licking it. His tail gave one reluctant wag. If only all the residents of Grindley Manor would give in this easily.
“Mr. Benton! We need vases!” Aziza yelled.
“Already on it, young miss,” he called from the hallway.
I sat in the armchair angled toward the sofa while Aziza plopped down next to her mother, still clutching her flowers.
Max surprised me by following me, earning him a muttered, “Traitor,” from his owner.
I bit back a grin. Kyleigh looked ready to freeze me out, so I figured it was best to keep my focus on my daughter.
“So, you the one running things up here on the hill, huh?” I started.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “I live here. Mama pretend to be in charge, but really it’s me.”
I laughed, loving how much she looked like her mama but talked like me. “I see that. I heard you went to see some lights the other night,”
Her whole face brightened. “Yes! At the show in Ruston. It was so pretty. They had music and fake snow and a train. I waved at all the people. We brought Mama a snow globe.”
“I saw it,” I said. “You like stuff like that? Christmas lights and all?”
She nodded hard. “I love it. We don’t do a lot of stuff, though. Mama says we celebrate in our hearts.”
Her voice dipped. Beside her, Kyleigh’s jaw tightened.
I kept my voice easy. “You got your own tree though, right?” I asked. “Your mama told me you and Ms. Serena put one together in your room.”
“Yes,” she said, perking up again. “It’s pink and white and it got a star on the top that light up. But we don’t have a big tree down here. I asked.”
She glanced at Kyleigh as she said it. I knew kids well enough to know that Kyleigh was being thrown under the bus, but both seemed legit hurt. The look they exchanged almost killed me. Which was why I stepped out on a limb next. Way out.
“You ever been Christmas tree shopping? Like at a lot. Picked one out yourself?”
Aziza shook her head. “No. We just have the box. I want to see a whole bunch of trees and smell them and pick one for real.”
“Ay, umm… I know a place. I haven’t been in a long time, but they used to have lights, music, hot chocolate. Nice people. I was thinking…”
I let it hang, looked at Kyleigh. She was already frowning.
“Here we go,” she muttered.
I pressed on. “If your mama says it’s okay, we could go. All three of us. Tonight,” I told Aziza.
She gasped, brown eyes growing big as saucers. “For real We can go pick one?” It was a breathless query.
“If your mama says yes,” I repeated.
I wasn’t letting Kyleigh take the easy way out and blame me for “forcing” her into this.
She had choices. I just hoped she made smart ones.
She stilled as two sets of brown eyes turned on her.
She rubbed her temple like she was getting a migraine.
“You really came back to stress me out,” she said, half under her breath.
“I really came to make her smile. And you, too, if you’d let yourself,” I countered.
“My smiles are none of your concern,” she announced frostily.
My eyes met hers. “That’s a lie, Ms. Grindley.”
She looked away first. Aziza grabbed her hand. “Please, Mama, please. We can just look. We don’t have to buy one if you hate them. But I want to see.”
She looked so hopeful that I already knew what her mother’s answer would be. Kyleigh exhaled long and slow, eyes closing for a second.
“Fine. We can go look. Looking only,” she agreed stiffly
Aziza shrieked and nearly tackled her. “Thank you!” she crowed, as Max erupted into happy barks.
The tightness in my chest loosened.
“Good,” I said, standing. “Then let’s go look.