Chapter 2
VASIAH HILL
Turning my key into my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and padded to my couch in utter disbelief at how the night unfolded.
Never did I think that checking out my new favorite bookstore would lead to a fine ass shorty coming up to me and asking for my number, telling me that she wanted me to take her on a date.
Unfortunately, incel niggas gave niggas like me a bad rep when it came to rejection.
If they wasn’t on the internet dogging Black women specifically out, then they were in forums complaining that Black women didn’t like dudes like us cause they were caught up in ‘thugs.’ I had a homie in college who thought like this.
Swore that Black women ain’t fuck with him and how Asian, White, and Latina women were better.
I had to tell that nigga he was tweaking.
Nigga, she don’t like you cuz yo lining crooked, yo breath stank, and you don’t know how to hold a conversation.
You wear dirty ass shoes, and you don’t even iron yo clothes.
Not because you like anime and playing video games.
Needless to say, he ain’t wanna be cool no more after that.
And that was fine with me. I ain’t wanna be cool with lame ass niggas who thought like that anyway.
I plopped on my couch and grabbed my headset.
After a long day, I liked to decompress and play a variety of games.
Sometimes it was Fortnite. Sometimes it was Call of Duty.
Sometimes it was 2K. I’d play for a few hours, or sometimes I’d draw up new designs for my own video game company.
After like thirty minutes, my attention couldn’t be held, and my mind drifted back to me and Reina’s encounter earlier.
She was bad.
Tall.
Slender, but thick in the thighs and had small hips that I wouldn’t mind grabbing on.
She smelled heavenly, like something floral and fruity.
Full lips and a pretty smile.
Her laugh was attractive as fuck too, and her voice had this sexy ass rasp to it. She had one of those voices that you could listen to talk all night.
Fuck. I ain’t felt like this in a minute… if ever.
But more than her beauty, I was attracted to her aura. Her boldness. How she seemed genuinely curious about what I was reading.
Hell yeah, I would take her on a date. I just needed to figure out how to plan one first. Pulling up the browser on my phone, I started to Google it, but felt awkward. I needed some sound advice from a person who really knew me.
So I called my Pops.
Varnell Hill answered on the third ring, and I could bet my last dollar that he was sitting in his den, watching the Bears play on mute with some John Coltrane playing softly on his Bluetooth record player I got him for his birthday one year. He was newly retired and a creature of habit.
“Aye, Pop?”
“What’s happening, son?”
“I had the craziest encounter tonight,” I started. “You know that new bookstore and wine bar?”
“The Black owned one? By them gals who got that crazy colored hair?”
I chuckled. I had shown my Pop their Instagram once, and he was shocked that the owners rocked emerald green and ginger colored hair, respectively.
“Yeah, man. That’s them. Anyway, they had that new manga I was telling you about. They have some good Black-owned bourbon too. I think it was Uncle Nearest. Anyway…. I met someone.”
“And? I hope you ain’t make a fool of yourself with that whole shy act. You ain’t ugly and you ain’t no bum ass nigga!”
“She actually did most of the talking. She walked right up to me, introduced herself, we made some small talk… and she asked if I wanted to exchange numbers because she wants me to take her on a date.”
He hung up on me and began to FaceTime me on his iPad. I answered, and he was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “She did what now, son?”
I repeated what I said, and he went off camera, no doubt leaning back and stroking his salt-and-pepper goatee.
“Sounds like she’s a rare one, son… ya mama was like that. Saw what she wanted and came right up to me after our sociology class in college.”
Silence hung in the air between both of us, no doubt trying to push down the emotions that came when either one of us brought up my late mother.
My parents met in their junior year of college, and the story goes is that my mama saw my pops, walked up to him, and handed him a slip of paper with her phone number on it, and told him that she’d be ready by eight.
Pops was stunned, but shortly after their first date, they were inseparable and later married when they graduated from college a year and a half later.
Nine months after that, I was born, and things were good until my mother passed away suddenly from a rare disease called pulmonary embolism when I was five.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I rushed to change the subject.
I missed my mother and hated that I didn’t get more time with her, but I really felt bad for my Pops.
Let him tell it, they were soul mates, and he never remarried, just raised me as a single man, and left it at that.
And while my Pop was an amazing man, sometimes a nigga just needed his mama, you know?
I remember my mama always smelling like brown sugar cookies and how she taught me how to read and write.
But I’m sure that no one missed her more than my Pop did.
“Yeah… so how you think I should go about doing this?” I asked, getting back to the reason for my call.
He cleared his throat. “Well, son, have you called her yet? Start there. You gotta find out what the girl likes and dislikes and listen. Women like to be listened to. They like it when you remember small things about them that most people overlook. This girl seems sure of herself and what she wants, so you let your natural confidence take the lead.”
“When should I call her? Is tomorrow too soon?” I asked because I was genuinely confused.
It seemed like there were so many rules to modern dating that baffled me.
If I showed too much interest, I was being thirsty.
If I were nonchalant, then I would be accused of trying to do the bare minimum.
Some women I came across said they wanted one thing, but then when it showed up in their faces, they ran from it.
I know niggas were weird just from all the shit they had to deal with, but some women were equally as weird, if not weirder.
Like, how were people supposed to find their happily ever afters in all of this?
Not that I thought any of that was in the cards for me.
My Pops sighed. “Swear your generation just makes shit so difficult! She gave you her number tonight, right? Did she drive? Did you walk her to her car? Did you send her a text to make sure she made it home okay?”
I responded with silence, and he grumbled.
“Son, you about to be thirty-three years old. You can’t be this clueless!
Text or call the damn girl. Find out what she likes.
Then use that big ass brain of yours to plan something nice.
If it works out, cool. If not, that’s okay too. You deserve to see what happens, son.”
I was stunned. My old man had never been this candid about relationships. I think his grief had him closed off for many years, but now it seemed like he was singing a different tune.
“Pop?”
“Yeah son?”
“Are you…getting back out here?” I asked carefully.
He huffed. “Somewhat. Your Uncle Victor said it ain’t right for a man to spend his life alone…
. Yo mama been gone for almost twenty-six years son.
She’ll always have my heart and remain my first love but the therapist lady I been seeing recently said that first loves don’t mean last love.
I’m a stubborn old mule but maybe I can learn something new. ”
I nodded, impressed. Now my Uncle Victor may have not always had the most sound advice, but he had been married before and after he and his first wife divorced, he dated around and then started dating his ex-wife again.
They probably won’t ever get remarried but they are enjoying long-term partnership.
We chopped it up for a bit more, and then I promised Pop that I would swing by the crib later in the week to lay eyes on him.
Leaning back on the couch, I looked at my phone and decided I would hit up Reina.
Me: Hey lady. You made it in okay?
Reina: Yeah, I did.
Me: Cool, cool.
Me: You mind if I Facetime you?
I held my breath. I knew some women who didn’t like random Facetimes but I hated texting.
Talking on the phone was okay, but I liked to Facetime more than anything.
It was something about seeing a person’s facial expressions and body language that I really liked observing.
They often gave me cues on how to proceed.
Reina: Give me about ten or fifteen minutes and you sure can.
My stomach twisted, and I ran to my hallway mirror and made sure I still looked presentable.
My mom started growing my locs when I was two, and almost thirty years later, they reached the middle of my back.
I usually kept them up in a loose bun until I could find somebody to retwist them.
Once satisfied that my lining wasn’t crooked, I turned on my lamp and dialed her number.
She answered on the third ring.
My words got caught in my throat. Her eyes were a beautiful chocolate brown color, and she looked at me with curiosity. I found myself involuntarily smiling at her like an idiot.
“So Vasiah…. What’s the last thing that made you genuinely smile?”
The question surprised me because it wasn’t typical, but I answered it. Next thing I knew, five hours had passed, and she was snoring softly on the other end of the phone. I propped my phone on my pillow and turned off all the lights in my apartment, feeling like… a nigga could get used to this.