Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bee
I stretched like a cat as I woke up, the time of day unknown since my senses were dulled by my silk eye mask. A heavenly smell wafted upstairs caught my nose. I threw off my bonnet and eye mask and went to the kitchen.
Up until this moment in time, I’d call cohabitating with Nola a successful experiment given we didn’t make eye contact nor touch.
We still had opposite schedules with trainers, took to our rooms for meetings with our agents and the various brands we worked with.
I even started to feel her presence linger in the living room when I watched my reality tv shows.
She initially had no problem voicing her disdain for my preferred shows, but lately when she shuffled downstairs, usually in cropped tees and baggy shorts that I only stared at when she was not looking, she took her time leaving the room, entranced by housewife fights.
I had started inviting her to stay, but she had yet to take me up on the offer.
Which was for the best, because if I couldn’t look at her without getting nervous, casual television watching was not in our cards.
But today, I walked downstairs to the sight of Nola cooking breakfast.
Specifically a Filipino breakfast.
The smell of garlic, lemon, and sizzling pork made my tastebuds water, and that didn’t take into account how hot Nola looked in the kitchen.
“Am I dreaming?” I croaked out with my morning voice.
Nola’s eyes flicked up to mine before widening at my appearance. “Are you usually pantsless in your dreams?”
Given that Nola and I had opposing schedules, we were never home at the same time to see each other in our morning glory. Which for me meant, my bonnet, the biggest t-shirt I owned and no pants.
Right.
“It’s a 50/50 chance.” I shrugged, because this was normal and not at all making my heart swell. I must tamper that little bitch down. The little bitch being my heart “So do you just have Filipino cuisine cooking skills in your back pocket?”
Nola shook her head while she squirted lemon juice over the white rice and pork. Her hands moved fast, but everything slowed as I watched lemon juice fly out from the cut half. The pulpy insides reminded me of…
I am definitely having sane and rational thoughts.
“Your birthday’s tomorrow, right? I just wanted to be nice.”
“How’d you know that?” I loved my birthday; it was my favorite holiday after Christmas and Juneteenth. I loved it so much I dedicated the month of April to only me, a national holiday I bullied amongst my family and friends with no options to opt out.
“I’ve heard you talk about it since April started.
What do you call it? Apri-ttney?” She stared at me, looking for confirmation, reminding me why I had been avoiding eye contact with her, even on days I was wearing pants.
“Didn’t you want grills or something? And one of your sisters said how ridiculous that was? ”
I nodded my head, speechless that Nola actually listened to me when I wasn’t talking to her. Celeste had demanded I send my birthday list in our family chat, only to see and shoot down my request for family matching gold grills.
The electric feeling I’d been hoping was a fluke was back. Like an electric wire was being pulled taunt between us. It made me step closer, my bare feet absorbing the cold from the floor.
“Did I break you?”
“Kind of, yeah,” I whispered. Nola pushed a plate toward me, and I sat in one of the tall barstools. I cleared my throat, trying to focus again. “Thank you, Nola. This is really nice.”
“What are your plans?” she asked to her food; the lack of eye contact helped me breathe a little easier.
“Enjoying the last morning I can sleep in, dinner with Farrah, probably go to the movies by myself.”
“You go to the movies alone?” Her face showed her deep surprise.
“My siblings and I don’t have the same taste, so yeah.”
“And that taste is?”
“Horror movies, period pieces, spy thrillers.” I listed off on each finger.
“Spy thrillers…”
“They’re my guilty pleasure.” I shrugged.
“Huh, usually people say rom-coms are their guilty pleasure.”
“And then I’d ask why a movie about love is guilty?” I met Nola’s eyes, seeking out if she was someone who found romance movies repulsive.
“Same. It’s kind of a misogynistic opinion to have.”
Oh. Nola knows ball.
“For sure.” I was hypnotized again, so I shoveled breakfast into my mouth, moaning deeply as every flavor exploded in my mouth.
It was a general birthday tradition in the Lee family that we made breakfast—whether that was a typical Southern meal, or a Filipino one.
I had long prepared myself to miss out on the tradition this year, given we were all back in our separate bubbles.
There’s no way Nola would have asked Aaliyah or Amir how we celebrated, so the sheer fact I was sticking to tradition hundreds of miles away had me tearing up.
“I’m taking a picture of my plate to send to my siblings.” I warned Nola as I reached for my phone.
“Please don’t; they’re going to rip into me.”
“No, they won’t! This is really good Nola, I promise!”
“If they shit talk me, just don’t tell me.”
“You don’t believe in live feedback?” I asked before shoveling more food into my mouth and moaning again.
This time I noticed the way Nola’s body froze. My eyes were half-closed and my face grew hot. That electric wire between us buzzing so loud in my head I opened my eyes all the way.
Her brown eyes were as dark as mine, pools of dark chocolate that I got lost in, have gotten lost in. Eyes that, if I was being honest, I was in denial about wanting to wade in deeper to see how deep I could go.
“I haven’t thought about what someone said about me for a while now.” She was testing me.
“Not even me?”
Nola didn’t answer immediately, staring silently. Her eyes were hungry, as if this was her only opportunity to memorize my features. As if she hadn’t committed them to memory like I’d done for her. She was quiet for so long I thought she was choosing to ignore me.
Instead, she bested me by saying, “As it turns out, you might be the exception.”