34. Corinthians #2
We walked back to his car, and he drove us to the other side of town. I didn’t care where we went or how long it took. The entire car ride, he held my hand, his grip tight and strong but not overwhelming.
“Do I want to know why you remember where I live?” I asked him as we pulled into my subdivision.
“No,” he answered. He passed my house, and my brow lifted. “Chill.”
We drove down the street, turned right, then made another right, ending up on the block behind mine. Uri pulled into the driveway, waited for the garage door to open, and once it did, he pulled in, parked, and turned off the car. I watched as he got out, rounded his car, then came to open my door.
“You live here?” I asked, and he nodded. “Since when?”
Uri opened the door that led into the house, and we walked in. His house was cool, not cold but comfortable. The kitchen was beautiful with its black cabinets, marble floors, matching countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. All the lights were on.
I leaned against the counter, taking in my surroundings and loving the peaceful feeling.
“Just bought it,” he answered, taking off his shoes. He put his shoes in the corner, then approached me. “Up.” He put his hands on my waist and effortlessly lifted me onto the counter. “Food?”
I stared into his eyes, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Uri was always like this, quiet, calculating, and organically genuine. I bit my bottom lip, thinking but not coming up with any decision. He dropped his head, his hand went to my thigh, and he traced letters into my leg.
“Something simple,” I finally said. “Salad, and a protein. Whatever you have.”
He looked up at me. “Chicken?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Can I help?” I asked him.
Uri stepped back and shook his head. “No,” he answered and then walked to the fridge. He pulled out everything we would need, including a package of marinated chicken breasts.
“Why not?” I asked as he washed his hands. “I can cook.” His mouth twisted to the side, and I laughed. “I can; Judah eats my cooking.”
“He said you can make s-s-s-simple meals,” he told me. “N-n-n-n-n-nuggets, fries, s-s-s-s-spaghetti.” He looked over at me as he dried his hands. “And he hates spaghetti.”
“I know,” I laughed. This wasn’t my first time noticing that he didn’t always have a stutter, and I wondered why.
“But he eats it because I don’t.” I smiled, shook my head, then lowered my gaze to my hands.
I kept my nails short and manicured; a French tip was always my go-to because of work.
“He’s a good kid. The best parts of me.”
“I k-k-k-k-know,” he agreed. I looked up to see him smiling. He winked, then started preparing our food.
I watched him as he cooked. Uri moved effortlessly through the kitchen. Our simple salad turned into not only that but also homemade cookies.
“So how did you get into accounting?” I asked between bites of my salad.
“I’m good w-w-w-w-with numbers,” he answered.
“I always have been. Uncle Bradon noticed it first and d-d-d-d-d-dared me to solve a problem. I did. He p-p-p-paid me; then I did it again.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but it was; I saw the pride in his eyes, heard it in his voice.
“I went to college for accounting, then became Nine’s accountant.
That turned into me picking up our friends as clients.
I got my hands on their books, flipped them and turned them into millionaires. ”
“You work for Nine?”
“Yes and no,” he answered.
“What does that mean?” I took a bite of chicken and waited.
“I own a few businesses, some solely, others with Nine. Nine owns a few on his own; for those, I am his accountant. So… “
“Yes and no,” I finished for him, and he nodded. He took a bite of his food.
“Do you plan to expand?”
I chewed my food and thought about his question. I loved owning my shop, but the thought of expanding was on hold. “Not yet,” I answered.
“Why?”
“I opened my shop because of a grant. I didn’t think I was going to get it, but I did.
I’ve been successful, but I want to meet the grant's stipulations first. They aren’t difficult or even uncalled for, but I want to show the company that awarded me the money first that I’m a success.
I have two more years under the grant; once I am the sole owner of the building, I plan to expand.
I already have my eye on the next area, well, a general idea of where I want to be.
It’s closer to the house, the school Judah will be going to. ”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. “So, you have a two-year plan?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “You have longer?” Uri nodded. “How far out is yours?” I didn’t know anything about his company, but if they were half as successful as Nine’s, then Uri was way further into his bag than I was.
“A lifetime,” he answered with a smirk.
***
I dropped onto the couch, making Judah laugh as I playfully landed on him. “Mommy!” he yelled from beside me. I laid back, covering him but being mindful of him being under me. “Mommy!”
“I hear someone, but I don’t see them,” I playfully said, looking around the room. “It sounds like Judah, but the voice is a little too deep.”
“It’s meeeee!” he squealed and moved. “Mommy, it’s me.”
“How do I know it's really you?”
“Who else would it be?” he laughed. “It’s me, Judah DeCorte, your son.”
“Prove it,” I said, looking over my shoulder to see him looking up at me. His eyes were bright and big with happiness. “What’s a secret only you would know?”
“I know everything,” he laughed. “I’m the smartest person you know.”
“Prove it.”
“Your favorite color is gold; you like flowers that Auntie Bug plants. Your favorite one is right outside your window, so when you wake up it’s the first thing you see.”
“Those are easy, name something hard.”
“You fart in your sleep!” he laughed. I jumped up, put my hands on my hips, and narrowed my eyes at him.
“I do not.”
“You do,” he insisted as he nodded. “And it sounds like this!” He made a farting noise with his mouth, then fell over laughing. “Every time.”
“Get out of here,” I said, laughing and waving him off.
Judah was a typical boy obsessed with everything that I considered disgusting.
Raising a boy was hard, but worth it. I picked up the bowl of popcorn I’d brought into the living room and waved him over to his side of the couch, even though I knew by the middle of the movie he would be sitting on my back.
Judah picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “I think we should watch something scary,” he said as he went to the movie apps. “Krude told me about Final Destination.”
“I thought I told you to stop talking to Krude,” I asked him as I ate a few pieces of popcorn. “And why the hell is he telling you about that movie like he doesn’t keep Disney movies on rotation at his house?”
“He watches both,” Judah replied. He glanced at me and smirked. “He said that he has a balance. For every scary movie he watches, he watches a funny movie.” He shrugged, then turned back to the TV. “We watched Jason the other day.”
“Is that why you ended up in here with me on the couch?” I asked him, and he nodded. I reached over, took the remote from his hand, and shook my head. “Then that means you will be watching something funny instead of scary. Think fast, or we will be watching something with singing.”
“No!” he quickly said, jumping up and blocking the TV. The last time it was my turn to pick, we watched Hamilton. Judah hated it. “Let me think.” His mouth twisted to the side, and I playfully rolled my eyes. “How about an old movie? One from when you were a kid.”
“Like what?”
“Toy Soldier?” he asked.
I hated to admit it, but he’d picked a good one.
I loved Toy Soldier. As a kid, we always watched it.
“Deal,” I said after a few moments. Judah climbed back onto the couch, took the popcorn from my lap, and set it between us.
“You picked a good one, kid.” I leaned over, kissed the side of his head, then sat back.
I found the movie, turned it on, then pulled my blanket up to my chin and relaxed in my seat.
Judah jumped up, turned the lights off, then moved around the couch to the wall near me and tapped the runner lights that lined the floors.
The room was dark, but not so much that I was uncomfortable.
Judah didn’t know I didn’t like being in the dark, but I knew he would eventually notice that our house was never completely dark.
There was always a light on in whatever room I was in.
By the middle of the movie, I’d readjusted my seat, lay across the couch, and Judah climbed onto my back as we watched.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a text from an unsaved number.
My heart pounded at the sight of the number.
I didn’t give out my phone number. The only people who had my personal number were my family.
I had a business phone, but that was on the dining room table.
Movie night with Judah was a no-work time.
I didn’t even think about that phone when I was with him.
I didn’t have friends; the last time I trusted someone was Melissa, and I hadn’t seen her since the night of my assault.
When I finally got myself together, I went back to look for her, only to find that her apartment was empty, with no forwarding address, and that she’d quit her job. All her social media was gone too.
My phone buzzed again, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I looked down at the screen.
816-555-5555: Hey
816-555-5555: You busy?
Me: Who is this?
816-555-5555: Four, Cross gave me your number. I hope that’s okay.
I exited our text thread and found Cross’ thread.
Me: You gave my number out?
Cross: To Four; he said he wanted to ask you about setting up an appointment to get his hair cut.
Cross: I think he’s lying, but I gave it to him anyway.
Me: Why?
Cross: Because I have eyes. To be strangers, you have undeniable chemistry.
Me: You sound like Krude.
Cross: I’ve been called worse lol.
I exited our thread and went back to the one with Uri.