Chapter 12
“I KNOW THAT’LL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER.”
H is Aunt Joyce would probably think he was coming down with a cold if she could see him right now. If he were, Najee didn’t want any medicine to heal him. For once, everything felt right, and having Orielle in his space was the missing piece to the void he felt when he was first released.
His old home had nothing on his new crib.
His old hoe had nothing on his new bitch.
He started from the bottom and now had more than enough to build with.
It was plenty paper in his pockets, he’d fucked around and made his crew rich.
There was no more falling off, especially when he was the blueprint.
If he told his story and started rapping, Najee would’ve had a hit on his hands. Every word was the truth, and niggas loved when you spit that real to them and could relate.
Tomorrow would make day three since Orielle had been at his crib. He could tell by the way she was freely walking around in one of his T-shirts and a pair of little shorts that she was comfortable. She too felt at home, and that’s why she hadn’t left yet.
Something about waking up in Najee’s bed, in his arms, with no real pressure to rush home, made her feel safe. Not because of the space itself, but because of him. He’d given her a soft place to land without asking for anything in return.
After receiving the best massage of her life before bed last night, Orielle woke up refreshed and in the greatest mood.
She slept like a baby and had been getting catered to like one as well.
Najee had no problem being the only nigga to spoil her.
He knew she could spoil herself, and that only made him want to provide for her more.
That’s why he was currently in the kitchen, on his Chef Jay shit, flipping the last two pieces of homemade French toast in a nonstick pan while her voice floated through the air.
She sat at the island, alternating notes on a new song she was working on while sipping a cup of her favorite tea she got from the pantry.
Orielle told him she didn’t drink whole milk, gave up pork years ago, and only ate brown eggs.
She mentioned that they tasted better, but Najee didn’t think so.
He didn’t call her bluff, though. He simply stocked his fridge with oat milk, packs of ground turkey, and had a carton of cage-free brown eggs set out on the counter waiting for him to cook last.
Any and all things she liked had been purchased at the grocery store, adding another layer of her to his home.
Najee pulled the last strips of turkey bacon from the pan, placing them on a paper towel. When he heard her sigh, he glanced over his shoulder to see what was wrong.
“You good over there?”
Orielle nodded. “Yes. Just watching you. Do you know how fine you look?”
“Nah. Tell me. I need to hear something else good this morning besides you singing.”
Smiling, she slid out of the chair, rounded the island, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Najee looked so good with his grey shorts and white tank top on. Like her skin had been, his was just as lustrous now. He’d call it the Pretty Girl Effect. Everything she touched illuminated.
Najee palmed her ass and dropped a kiss to her neck. “You just wanted to hug me.”
“And you wanted me to.”
He did. She fit perfectly in his arms, right where she had always belonged.
“You got a nigga up early on the Lord’s day cooking for you. Who you think I am?”
Orielle giggled. “Every day is the Lord’s day, and my man.”
“Your man, huh? That sounds a bit off.”
She raised her brow. “How so?”
“‘Cause I could’ve sworn you were the one that said, you aren’t my man until you ask me to be your woman, and that’s if I say yes . Are you not?” he teased, mocking her.
Orielle’s laughter wrapped around him. “I do not sound like that.”
“Nah. You sound like a hypocrite, but I’ma let you slide, baby. Not for too much longer, though.”
If she wanted him to come correctly, that’s exactly what Najee was going to do.
“I mean,” she dragged, smiling. “I don’t hear you denying it.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked and kissed her forehead. “It’s the truth, I just ain’t stamped it fully yet. You want cheese in these bougie ass eggs you made me buy?”
Orielle was so smitten that it made no sense. Najee wasn’t too far behind her. She had this fine, Black, boss ass man up at nine in the morning, whipping her up a breakfast made for a queen, while readily taking her requests. He wasn’t just a provider.
Najee was a protector.
A leader.
A confidant.
A lover.
A visionary.
A listener.
A motivator.
A healer.
A planner.
A real solid money-making, gun-toting, heart-snatching, gut-arranging, gold grill wearing, pussy-pleasing ass man who belonged all to Orielle. Fuck what she said it was before; this was what it was now and would remain.
She didn’t like cheese in her eggs either.
Not when they were scrambled. That was another thing Najee learned about her before making her a plate, then piling up one of his own.
Becoming the man of the house at such a young age forced Najee to learn to cook.
He didn’t mind it, plus Aunt Joyce had been the one to show him his way around the kitchen.
When they were done eating, they curled up together on the couch. Orielle had her legs tossed over his lap, watching the livestream church service on the sixty-five-inch TV. Swaying from side to side, Orielle sang along with the praise and worship team until the pastor began his sermon.
In the middle of paying her tithes and offering through text, she was interrupted by an incoming call from her mama.
Rarely did Janelle call, and if she did, Orielle wished she hadn’t answered by the time they got off the phone.
She was in a good mood today, and she prayed to God that she didn’t have to curse Janelle out.
“Hello,” Orielle answered, turning the volume on the TV down.
“Hey, honey. What’re you up to?” Janelle asked.
Orielle tried detecting what type of mood she was in, but she couldn’t.
Her voice was chipper, but that didn’t mean she was happy about anything in particular.
Trauma. Drunken days and nights of loud laughter that turned into belligerent shouts and hysterical cries had embedded themselves in her mind.
Shaking away the memories, Orielle exhaled.
“Watching church service. You sound...excited.” She didn’t know what other word to use.
Janelle chuckled. “You could say that. I start a new position at work and just had to share the news with you.”
For what? Orielle wanted to ask her. She didn’t even know where she worked. That’s how strained their relationship was. Still, she was happy for her. Anything was better than drowning in a liquor bottle.
“That’s good to hear. Congrats. What position is it?”
“A recovery coach. Isn’t that amazing? All those years of struggling with my addiction, and now I get to help others,” she said, sounding genuinely happy.
Orielle cleared her throat and ignored the side eye Najee was giving her. She’d told him about the relationship with Janelle and knew how she felt about her. He wasn’t going to say anything, and neither was Orielle.
“Hello?” Janelle said.
“Yeah... yeah. I’m here. I’m sure whoever you help will be worth it.”
She hadn’t meant for her tone to be that dry, but Orielle couldn’t fake like she was happy for her mama. Janelle showed more excitement about helping a stranger out than she did her child.
“I’m sure it will be, too. What have you been up to?”
Instead of keeping her answer surface-level like she usually did, she decided to share, since they were celebrating and all.
“Working on new music. I’ve been in conversation with a few people about signing to a label. So, I’m pretty excited about that. One of my songs is in heavy rotation on the radio, too.”
“You know I don’t listen to that kind of music, but that’s nice of them to play it,” Janelle said.
Orielle let out a low, pissed off chuckle. More than anything, she was hurt, and the tears brimming in her eyes were proof.
“Man, what the fuck,” Najee grumbled, pissed off. “Hang up on her.”
If she didn’t, he was going to do it for her. Janelle couldn’t even fix her lips to say, ‘I’m happy for you or Congratulations.’ She could’ve even asked what the song was called. Instead, she jumped right into being negative, and Orielle was tired of her treating her like she wasn’t anything.
“Why can’t you just be happy for me?” Orielle asked.
There was a pause before Janelle said, “What do you mean? I am glad that the radio is playing your music.”
“No, Mama. I said happy for me! Not what other people are doing for me that makes you happy. That’s not the same.”
“Orielle.” Janelle sighed. “Here you go getting worked up for no reason. It’s all the same as long as you're still singing, right?”
Najee had heard enough. Snatching the phone out of her lap, he hung up in Janelle’s face. He couldn’t go another minute of hearing her play clueless to her daughter’s feelings. Fuck that.
“The next time she calls, don’t answer,” he said, with a grit in his tone that made her eyes lift from her lap to his face.
She was quiet for a second as her emotions stumbled over one another in her chest. It tightened with the type of anxiety she got as a kid. Closing her eyes, Orielle took some deep breaths.
“I just don’t get it,” she said, voice cracking. “You’d think with everything she missed out on in my life, she’d make an effort to get to know me. She doesn’t even pretend to act like she cares about me. She doesn’t even like me. What did I do to her?”
Orielle didn’t want to cry in front of him, but she couldn’t keep her tears in.
She was aching. The love she wanted to receive would never come, and that realization stung the most. She wiped the tears from her cheek, staring at him for an answer.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted one, but the question burned her up inside.