23. “I’m Every Woman”
TWENTY-THREE
“I’M EVERY WOMAN”
(CHAKA KHAN)
I t was late the next morning and Javi and I were having our first fight (well, the first one after we officially got together).
And it was stupid.
But he was being stubborn.
Which was more stupid!
“We’re taking this back to my place and getting you a new one when we shop for doubled-up stuff,” I said for, like, the millionth time.
I said this while I set my nutribullet in the box we were putting my stuff into for the move back to my place.
The instant I took my hands from it, Javi pulled it out and retorted inflexibly, “New one’s gonna be at your place.”
This was the fifth time this happened.
My yoga mat and all my exercise stuff was still upstairs, because Javi decreed he didn’t want me dragging it back and forth, so I was getting new for my place, something we were going to see to after we took all his and my stuff there.
The same with my moisturizer, night cream (really, all my toiletries), bubble bath and salts, and sonic toothbrush.
I’d caved on all of those.
But Javi didn’t use any of those, not to mention, they were replaced regularly when I ran out.
So I was totally putting my foot down about the nutribullet.
“It doesn’t really matter. It’ll be the same thing at both places,” I pointed out.
“If it doesn’t matter, then you should have no problem leavin’ this here,” he returned.
Bah!
“I want new stuff at your place. You want new stuff too. You said it yourself. Only good stuff here,” I retorted, then added, “Especially anything you might use, like the nutribullet.”
“I want the good stuff at your place more,” he shot back.
“ I make the smoothies,” I replied heatedly. “So I should be able to pick where my equipment is.”
“Babe, you pack a bunch a’ healthy shit in the plastic thing and whiz it. You want me to take my turn making ’em? They don’t look that tough. I’ll make ’em.”
I was offended.
“I’d just like to see you try to make my Apple Cinnamon Oat Extravaganza Smoothie,” I snapped.
“Not drinking that shit again if that’s what you call it,” Javi muttered.
Ugh!
That one was his favorite!
“As you know,”—I flung an arm toward his kick-A chesterfield—“you’re allowed to have nice things,” I stated snottily.
“Yeah?” he asked.
But at his new tone, all of a sudden, my chest started hurting.
I powered through it and whispered, “Yeah.”
“Fuck it, who cares,” he said and dumped my nutribullet in the box. “We’ll get new for here. I’m gonna start packing shit in the truck.”
“Javi,” I called as he began to move away.
He turned to me.
“What just happened?” I asked.
“Nothin’, Harlow. Let’s just get this fuckin’ show on the road so we can get your shit in, go out and buy what we need to buy, and then maybe relax for an hour before I gotta cart your ass to Mace and Stella’s so you women can do your sit-down with Nancy.”
Before, he seemed annoyed.
Now he seemed angry.
I moved to him and put my hand on his chest. “This should be fun, doubling up on our stuff.”
“It would be, if you didn’t fight me every fuckin’ inch about shit that doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” I told him.
“For shit’s sake, why?” he demanded.
“Because you should have nice, new stuff,” I said.
“I hear you. But for every single thing, I don’t need nice, new stuff.”
“Okay, then I need you to let me let you have nice, new stuff for every single thing , because I need you to have nice, new stuff.”
“Then what happens?” he asked.
“Sorry?” I asked back, not understanding him.
“Babe, life kicks you in the teeth.”
Oh man.
“That happens to you, you’ll land on your feet,” he went on.
“You just will. Because your crew will look after you and because you’re you.
You work hard to make shit work. And even when shit isn’t working, you bounce around making smoothies and get on with it.
That isn’t how it happens for everybody. ”
Oh man!
“You have a crew too,” I noted.
“I know.”
“And a nice house. And a good job,” I continued.
“Harlow—”
The uber-clean kitchen. The care with the washcloth. Only a few fabulous kicks displayed on his wall.
This wasn’t about his new, more financially rewarding career, his townhouse and his taking it slow to make it into a home.
He’d had a good job before, and he hadn’t settled.
“You don’t trust it,” I whispered, eyeing him closely.
“Can we not get into this now?” he requested tersely.
Oh, I so, so wanted to get into this now.
No, I needed to get into this now.
What I didn’t need to do was push it if Javi didn’t feel like getting into it now.
I shifted closer to him. “Yes, we can not get into this now. That said, I think we need to get into it eventually because it worries me.”
“What worries you?”
“You smoothing your washcloth out like it’s the finest silk.”
His brows shot down. “Say again?”
I shook my head. “Not now. You don’t want to get into it now. I just want it agreed that we’ll get into it later.”
Javi sighed.
Heavily.
“I want my crib to be comfortable and the shit I buy to last, but I don’t really give a shit about new stuff, babe,” he asserted.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
A man who smoothed out his fluffy, thick, probably expensive washcloths, though, totally did.
And he did because he was a man who didn’t have a washcloth for nearly two decades.
Javi, as was Javi’s way, read my mind. “You can’t fix what I lost with new shit, Harlow.”
“No, I know,” I agreed. “But you’re getting the new stuff, Javi.”
He opened his mouth, but I put my hand over it.
“First, that nutribullet is pink and I’m not leaving a pink nutribullet at your house.
It’s a wonder it works with the level of your testosterone floating around.
Right or wrong, pink is a girl color so that’s a girl nutribullet, which means, the longer it’s here, the longer I live in fear its motor is going to burn out from trying to chug through your male hormones.
” I saw his eyes light with humor, and I felt relief, but I kept blabbing.
“I’m buying a black one. Or a silver one.
They have some matte ones, I need to look online. Or?—”
“Babe,” he grunted under my hand to keep me on target.
I took my hand away. “Second, I know I’ll never truly understand all you did without for so long, but what you need to understand is, I know you did without it so I feel a driving need for you not to do that ever, ever again.
As such, you are not going to have an old, pink nutribullet in your fab new townhouse.
You’re going to have a new, black or silver, or some matte color nutribullet in your fab new townhouse. You with me?”
“Lolita—” he started, and although his tone was a lot warmer, a lot lighter, he didn’t say anymore because the doorbell was ringing.
“Hold that thought,” I ordered as he walked to the door.
He dropped his head while shaking it, but still, I could see on his profile he was smiling.
Well, thank goodness. Our fight was over, and it looked like I won.
When he looked out the peephole, though, his smile vanished.
Whoosh!
That smile was a memory.
And again, my chest felt funny.
“Who is it?” I asked tentatively.
“No one,” he answered, turning from the door without answering it, and there was a funny look on his face. One I did not like. “I’m gonna go grab my bag from upstairs.”
The doorbell rang again.
Javi was moving to the stairs.
I moved to the door.
“Lolita,” he called.
I kept moving to the door.
“Harlow, leave it,” he bit off.
I looked out the peephole.
And my head exploded.
Austin Atherton was standing out there.
And he wasn’t alone.
Julia and Catherine were with him.
“Harlow!” Javi clipped as I unlocked and threw open the door.
“You are joking, right?” I demanded of Javi’s dad.
“Ohmigod,” Julia breathed. “Harlow?”
I felt Javi at my back.
“Oh my God,” Cath whispered, her eyes going up to her brother.
And, dang it, tears filled them.
Please tell me this wasn’t happening.
Javi grunted, and it was in pain as he looked at his two sisters.
It was happening.
Ever wanted to know if heads exploding could strike twice?
Let me tell you, it could.
I whirled and pointed in Javi’s face. “You. Upstairs. Pronto.”
“Baby,” he said softly, but he didn’t move, and his attention was glued out the door.
Going back and forth.
Between his sisters.
“I thought—” Austin started.
I whirled again. “I know what you thought, you asshole.”
I heard Javi’s swift intake of breath at me cursing. Julia’s mouth dropped open. Cath’s tears disappeared, and she looked instantly angry.
“We’re just trying—” Cath started.
“I know what you’re trying too,” I cut her off, then I turned my attention to her father.
“Do you honestly believe you could leave him to fend for himself, and when I say that, in this context, it’s literally , and then just waltz into his life when he no longer has to fight for it every… damned… day ?”
“Maybe we could come in and talk?” Julia suggested softly.
“And maybe you can’t,” I snapped at her.
“He’s our brother and we just first clapped eyes on him two seconds ago while you yelled at our dad,” Cath snapped back.
“He lived on the streets for sixteen years, Cath, courtesy of your dad ,” I retorted, and good on her, she had the grace to flinch, but still.
Fuck that noise. I jabbed a finger in her direction.
“You have no clue.” I jabbed it at Julia.
“And you have no clue.” I finally jabbed it at Austin.
“But you do, don’t you, Mr. Atherton? You know precisely what you put your son, your own flesh and blood, through.
It’s just that, for those sixteen years and then some, you didn’t give that first shit. ”
“That’s unfair,” Julia whispered.
“Yeah? It is?” I asked harshly. “Your father is a multimillionaire, and he couldn’t find his son and put him in a decent home, get him into school, put food in his belly, clothes on his back?”
“Things with Mom were difficult,” Cath explained.
But even if I could tell she knew that was totally lame, I lost it.