Chapter 14 #2
Brunch kept moving because families knew how to carry worry and appetite at the same time.
Danielle complained about a client. Pops asked about Jones Outdoor’s weather schedule.
Mama informed me Sister Linda thought the short ribs at North & Vine were too salty, which apparently meant one woman from church had become my executive chef's supervisor.
For a few minutes, I almost settled.
Then my phone buzzed beside my plate.
My stomach dropped in a different direction.
Aubrey: I thought we weren’t ending because of anyone else.
I stared at the message long enough for Pops to notice.
“You need to take that?”
“Yeah.”
I pushed back from the table. “Excuse me.”
Nobody asked, which was how I knew everybody wanted to.
I stepped through the kitchen and out onto the deck.
The morning air had warmed, but it still had enough bite to help me think.
Pops had planters along the railing, herbs Mama actually used and tomatoes he grew every year like Pittsburgh’s weather had said something slick to him personally.
The yard stretched behind the house, grass cut better than anybody else’s on the street because Pops would rather pull something than let the neighbors think he had fallen off.
I leaned against the railing and typed.
Me: We didn’t.
Her reply came fast.
Aubrey: Don’t insult me, Dre.
I closed my eyes briefly.
Me: I’m not.
Aubrey: Then tell me the truth.
A few seconds passed.
Aubrey: Was she why you couldn’t really love me?
I looked out over the yard.
Every easy answer came first. Every defensive one. All the ones that would make me feel better and treat Aubrey like she was stupid at the same time.
She wasn’t.
She had been good to me in a season when I needed more care than I wanted to admit. She had been patient until patience started costing her pride.
She deserved better than me dodging the truth because I hated how ugly it made me look.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Then I typed.
Me: Possibly.
I stared at the word, hated it, and kept going.
Me: Probably.
Me: But I didn’t know that while I was in it. I promise you that.
The dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Aubrey: That doesn’t make it hurt less.
Me: I know.
Aubrey: I loved you.
I swallowed.
Me: I know.
Aubrey: And you let me keep trying to become somebody you could love back the same way. That’s fucked up, Dre.
I looked through the glass door.
Mama was wiping syrup from Kayla’s mouth. Danielle was talking with her hands while Keith’s arm rested along the back of her chair. Pops sat at the table, not looking at me but knowing exactly where I stood.
That truth sat heavy because it had earned the right.
I typed slower.
Me: You’re right.
I’m sorry.
Aubrey didn’t answer right away.
When she did, the message was short.
Aubrey: Lose my number.
Another came seconds later.
Aubrey: I’m losing yours.
I stood with the phone in my hand until the screen dimmed.
That hurt.
She didn't owe me friendship. My apology wasn't a receipt she had to redeem for forgiveness. If deleting me was what she needed to move forward, then I had to be grown enough to let her.
I still hated that I had become somebody she needed to remove to feel free.
The deck door opened.
Pops stepped outside and closed it behind him.
He came to the railing without asking permission because it was his deck and because my father had never confused giving me space with leaving me alone.
“Business?”
“No.”
“Woman?”
I huffed. “You and Ms. Jean got the same gift.”
“Nah. Ms. Jean nebby. I'm your father.”
“Difference?”
“I know when to mind my business.”
I looked at him.
He smiled faintly. “Sometimes.”
For a minute, we stood quietly.
“Aubrey saw the pictures.”
He nodded.
“She asked if I couldn't love her because of Imani.”
“What'd you tell her?”
“The truth.”
“Which was?”
“Probably.”
Pops took that in.
“She told me to lose her number.”
“That hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
I turned toward him.
“Not good that she's hurting,” he clarified. “Good that you feel what your choices cost somebody else. A man ought to. Keeps him from getting careless.”
“I didn't mean to hurt her.”
“I believe you.”
“That don't fix it.”
“No.”
Simple.
Merciless.
True.
Pops leaned against the railing. “You remember how you used to run through the house when you were little?”
I frowned. “What?”
“Three, four years old. Big head. Fast feet. No sense. You'd tear down the hallway shoulder-first and knock into laundry baskets, tables, your sister, whatever was there. Your mama would yell, ‘Andre, slow down,’ and you'd say, ‘I ain't hurting nothing.’”
I almost smiled.
“You were hurting everything.”
“Damn.”
“You weren't trying to. That was the point. You thought because your heart wasn't bad, the damage wasn't yours.”
That one landed.
“I cared about Aubrey.”
“I know.”
“Just not the way she needed.”
“That part matters.”
“So what was I supposed to do? Leave sooner?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
I laughed once. “All right.”
“You asked.”
Pops looked toward the yard again. “Caring about a woman ain't the same as choosing her.
You can bring flowers, take trips, show up, be kind.
All that can be real. But if she wants the whole seat beside you and some part of it already belongs somewhere else, then she don't even know why she keeps sitting halfway out.”
My throat worked.
“That don't make you evil,” he said. “It makes you irresponsible.”
I let that sit.
“What about Imani?”
“What about her?”
“She left this morning. Saw the pictures, I think. I called. She ain't answering.”
Pops nodded.
“So what? I chase her?”
“You done chasing or running people over?”
I looked at him.
“You asked for advice.”
“Not like that.”
“I heard it that way.”
I rubbed my face.
His expression turned serious.
“Don't chase her like she's something you're scared another man will catch first. That's fear with good shoes on. And don't sit back acting too proud to move because she left first either. That's how young men lose things and rename it dignity.”
That one had my name written all over it.
“What do I do?”
“You go to her like a man. Leave the celebrity, the athlete, and the boy hoping she understands what he can't say out of it. Tell the truth.”
“And if she doesn't answer?”
“Leave the truth somewhere she can find it. Then make sure your behavior don't contradict it while she decides what to do.”
Hard things always sounded like yard work when Pops explained them.
“You hurt that girl once because you were scared and proud and young enough to think letting her go without saying everything counted as love.”
My eyes dropped.
“Don't do it twice.”
“I don't want to lose her again.”
“Then stop acting like wanting her is enough.” His hand closed around the back of my neck. “Love got legs. Put some under it.”
For a second, all I heard was wind through the trees and Kayla laughing inside.
Love got legs.
Put some under it.
The panic that had followed me since waking alone changed into something I could use. I couldn't control the pictures or the comments. I couldn't take back what Aubrey had endured or force Imani to answer before she was ready.
But I could stop hiding behind silence.
Pops glanced at me. “Where you going?”
“To put legs under it.”
His smile came slow.
“Eat first.”
“Pops.”
“You ain't getting nobody back hungry.”
I stared at him.
He opened the deck door. “Your mama made biscuits.”
And because the man was annoying, correct, and my father, I followed him inside.