Chapter 2
Ashlynn
Ireared back, snatching my hand from his. “Crazy muthafucka say what?”
Raphael stared at me for a beat, quirking an eyebrow. He chuckled, leaning forward. “Is this where I repeat it, then you act like you caught me in a trap where I admitted to being a ‘crazy muthafucka?’ Fine, I’ll play along.” Scrunching his face, Raphael said, “What?”
I shook my head, torn between wanting to laugh at his simple self and wanting to be irritated by his presence, his suggestion, and my body’s reaction to him. I settled on confusion. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
Quietly, I watched as he lifted the silver dome, my eyes damn-near popping out of my head when I saw what he’d had prepared for me. The exact order I’d given Ms. Sonia—Chicken and Dumpling Soup with a side of fried cabbage and honey-butter cornbread. It was my comfort meal, the one I indulged in when the temperatures dropped below freezing. Since I’d been home, I’d only ordered it a handful of times, but had been craving it today. Before I could thank him, Raphael took my hand in his, bowed his head, and recited a short blessing over the food.
Once completed, he unwrapped his silverware from the white cloth napkin, then sliced through his chicken breast topped with a rich, creamy, and flavorful gravy. He moaned with the first bite, and it took everything in me not to moan right along with him because damn.
“I don’t know how I went so long without this, but gah damn it tastes just like I remember.” He shook his head, taking another bite. “The chicken is so tender and juicy with the perfect amount of breading.”
As Raphael sang the praises of the chef between each bite, I tried not to dwell on what he’d said earlier, but I couldn’t. Hearing him admit to purposely staying away from the vineyards, a place he’d enjoyed almost as much as I did when we were kids, hit me like a ton of bricks. But what did I expect? For him to continue to come around my family after everything we’d been through? To show up to events with a smile on his face while surrounded by memories of me? It wasn’t fair. At least I’d gotten the hell outta dodge. I was halfway around the world, away from everyone who knew him.
“Whatever it is that has your pretty little mouth twisted and caused the light to dim in your eye, let it go.”
Snapping out if my thoughts, I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Raphael sighed, placing his fork down. “Dream, I know you. You’re in your head. Stop it.”
“But—”
Raphael gritted his teeth. “Dream,” he said in a warning tone. He sounded pained, and his eyes implored me to drop the subject.
A part of me thought of putting him out his misery, but as he so boldly stated, Raphael knew me. So, when my ‘it’s just one question’ was met with silence, I almost regretted pushing him. Almost. He was weighing his options while the tight thread of his control, and possibly his sanity, was unraveling.
“I’ve been called a lot of things: a dick, an asshole at times, a destroyer of my community, a glorified dope boy, a hot head, and a disappointment. I might’ve earned those titles, but the one thing I’m not is a liar. Please don’t change that today.”
“First of all, fuck anyone who said you’re a disappointment. You’re not, and I don’t wanna hear you say that shit again.”
“Chill, sweetheart. Relax.”
I shook my head, feeling my anger rising. “Chill? Relax?” The one thing I hated was being told to relax when I was pissed off.
His lips twitched before a slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “Look at you. Getting riled up, ready to defend my honor.” Raphael lifted a hand, running his index finger over my cheek. “Have I ever told you how sexy you look when your nostrils flare?”
I smacked his hand away. “Stop playing. I’m serious. You know how much I hate when you say stuff like that.”
“I know. I wasn’t saying it to piss you off, but to make a point. Don’t make me a liar.”
The unspoken warning in his voice was clear, but I needed to hear him tell me why, explain it to me as if I were a child. “The reason you stopped visiting, was it because of me?”
“Yes,” he stated simply, but the one-word held so much weight. Not only did it answer every single question floating in my head, it unlocked ones I wanted to ask, but wouldn’t. “Every inch of this place reminds me of you. It’s overwhelming.”
“Yet you came here today.”
“I did.”
I huffed an impatient breath. “Why do you keep doing that?
“Doing what?” Raphael asked, forking up a mouthful of vegetables.
“Responding to my questions with vague answers.” This nonchalant, cavalier front he was displaying, though sexy, was grating on my last nerve.
“Answers you already know.” He picked up his wine glass and took a healthy sip. “It’s not like you stayed home and had to see me everywhere you went, or be assaulted with memories of a failed relationship while you’re running through Rock Creek Park or Haines Point, grabbing lunch at the National Harbor, shopping at Wheaton, or while you’re driving through the city.”
“I know.” Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I had it a lot easier than he did, mainly because I ran and stayed away. Sure, Dina would bring him up every once in a while, but it was innocent conversation. She didn’t know how my heart ached listening to her catch me up on the gossip, including rumors of who he was dating. Dina had no idea I’d been in love with her brother, and it was my fault.
“And, you know why I’m here now. Besides wanting to discuss a collaboration and needing to see you. However, this isn’t the time or place … unless you wanna make it.”
I didn’t.
Not right now. Maybe not ever. Okay, that wouldn’t fly. Part of growing up and maturing was facing potential problems head-on. At some point, Raphael and I needed to sit down and discuss us and our future. I wasn’t talking about us in the sense of being in a relationship, but us as exes who were now existing in the same orbit once again. With the way our lives and families were intertwined, we were bound to see each other. The D.M.V.was huge, and although the circle of Black elite families—the upper crust of the area—was growing, it was still considerably small. Everybody knew everybody. Hell, hadn’t he named five or six times he’d seen me in the past month? Which should’ve been creepy as hell, had some of those times not been orchestrated.
I must’ve taken too long to answer, telling Raphael all he needed to know. “Exactly.”
“You’re acting like you know me,” I tossed at him, annoyed because he did know me better than most people. Raphael knew my past, and the dreams I’d shared about my future. Despite the lull in our relationship, he also knew me presently, even with the tiny holes time nibbled away.
“Acting?” he parroted, his eyes falling to my near-empty bowl. “Nah, sweetheart, this ain’t pretend. I’m not putting on a performance or here to entertain you and the masses. This is real life. I know you because you’re unforgettable, Dream.”
My breath caught in my throat at the intensity of his stare. I wanted to play his statement off with a joke, to try and lighten the mood, but I couldn’t find the words. No, they were there, floating around in my head. I couldn’t speak them. My tongue felt heavy. He licked his lips, and like a hawk, my eyes tracked the movement.
“I haven’t deleted a single detail about you from my memory banks. Your wash day routine, all of your ‘Menstrual Munchie” snacks, or how you used to sneak to the bookstore and purchase books written by Beverly Jenkins, Brenda Jackson, Donna Hill, and Adrianne Byrd to add to your hidden Black romance collection. You like to unwind after a long day with a good book, a glass or two of wine, and a rainy-day smooth jazz album. Nana Mae’s Chicken and Dumplings is your ultimate comfort food, and you used to request it several times a week. Green is your favorite color, but not any green, forest green, and you can tell the difference. You like your Pepsi ice cold with a little slush in the bottle, and although you love Peeps, you will not allow yourself to eat them outside of the Lent/Easter season, despite always giving up sweets for Lent.” He sat back with a smug grin on his face. “Shall I continue?”
“I think you’ve proven your point.” I wrung my hands together, massaging each of my fingers.
“You good?” He motioned with his head to my hands. “Is it the cold weather?”
Three years ago, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, an autoimmune disorder where my immune system, which is supposed to fight infections and bacteria, attacks healthy tissue in my body. Unlike regular arthritis, R.A. affects the lining of my joints leading to painful swelling, which can result in both joint deformities and bone erosion. During the winter months, as it does with osteoarthritis, the cold can exacerbate aches and pains.
“Wait,” I pointed a finger at him, “you know about my R.A.?”
“Woman, what part of ‘I know you’ did you not pick up on?” He might’ve looked irritated, but the twitch of his lips said otherwise. “Have you forgotten who your best friend is? I pray y’all never go on a Thelma and Louise kick because Dina can’t hold water.”
I laughed. “Aye, don’t be talking about my bestie. She knows where the bodies are buried.”
“So when the police show up at your door, you know why.” He laughed then, and I forgot how much I loved the sound, warmth, and richness of it. “But yeah, I know. A few years ago, before I opened WTP, Dina asked me if I could recommend anything for arthritis pain relief.” He stood, making his way back over to my desk, where a black, green, and white gift bag with the Weed the People logo printed on the front, had been sitting, next to the Rose of Jericho plant Raphael had delivered. Thankfully, he didn’t mention it. He brought it back to the table and handed it to me.
“For me?” I smiled, accepting the bag. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He retook his seat. “It has everything Dina usually gets you, and some products I want you to try in general, like the whipped shea butter salve that has both THC and CBD, but it’s not a lot. There’s also pain relief patches, bath bombs and salts to help you relax, edibles, and a few other goodies.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait.”
We were silent for a few minutes. This silence was unlike those I was used experiencing with Raphael. It was tinged with awkwardness, and it didn’t sit right with me. I rushed to fill it. “Ummm … it is the cold weather.”
“If you’re in pain, why cancel your appointment?”
“Because I don’t want to hear any more bad news.” When he didn’t speak right away, further adding to the uncomfortable silence, I wished for the ground to open up and a huge sinkhole to appear. “I know it may sound stupid to you, but?—”
“You’re mistaking my silence for judgement. It’s me processing. I’ve been on the cusp of your life for so long that I got used to getting secondhand information.”
I nodded in understanding but didn’t respond. His admission sucker punched me in the stomach. It didn’t matter how well we knew one another or how close we’d once been, we were virtually strangers now.
“Hey,” Raphael said, touching my forearm. “Wherever you are, come back.”
“I’m here.”
“Barely.” He released me, and I missed his touch. “Look, if me being here is too much, say the word. I’ll leave.”
My heart raced, nearly exploding in my chest as the icy tendrils of panic gripped me at his words. Leave. It was a simple word, yet to my ears it sounded like more, a permanent action that would only bring the both of us pain. “Wh-What about the collaboration? You haven’t even given me all the details, but you’re telling me you would walk away?”
“Of course,” he replied with no hesitation. “Your mental, physical, and emotional health has always been a priority to me.” Raphael opened his mouth like he wanted to say more but thought otherwise. He waited a beat before asking, “So, what’s going on?”
“What’s not going on?”
It took twenty minutes to explain everything to Raphael—how I’d initially learned of my diagnoses, dealing with constant pain, fatigue, the aggressive treatment plans my rheumatologist suggested, and how I’d overcome it all to no longer having an adverse reaction to the medication prescribed and going from having to complete monthly visits with Dr. Lockwood and bloodwork to having to six months in between appointments and three months in between lab work. I’d turned a corner with my diagnosis. Yeah, I was far from remission, but it finally felt like I’d gotten my R.A. under control to the point where I was able to live instead of merely existing. Until the results of the latest batch of bloodwork was a little concerning, elevated liver enzymes. On top of having to deal with this, there was a possibility of something else sneaking up to steal my joy.
“I just want to live in and savor the good right now without the presence of worry and fear.”
“Hmmm …”
He didn’t offer more, and strangely, I was okay with that. It wasn’t because he was bored by the conversation. On the contrary, Raphael was intrigued. I could see the interest in his eyes as he either contemplated his next words or waited for me to explain my current train of thoughts. This was dangerous. Sure, on the surface it appeared like two old friends, and I use the term loosely, catching up. But for us, this was how it started, how the reconciliation, neither of us saw coming, happened. We’d go from spending copious amounts of time together talking about our families, discussing our present lives, and reminiscing over memories from our previous attempts at a relationship to face-sitting, deep throating, and those slow, powerful strokes while staring into each other’s eyes that could turn him from daddy to baby daddy if I didn’t keep the P.B. on me, no jelly. I couldn’t afford to open the parts of myself to him. His access had been revoked, including my legs.
“So, about this collaboration. Tell me more.”
He smirked but didn’t call me out on changing the subject. “As I mentioned before, I want to create a cannabis-infused wine.”
“Marijuana and alcohol in one drink? That’s a recipe for disaster.”
“Yeah, and you know from experience.”
I groaned, burying my head in my hands. “Can we not discuss the most embarrassing night of my life?”
“Embarrassing?” Raphael placed a hand over his heart, as if my words wounded him. “Damn. I was expecting ‘greatest’ or ‘memorable.’ It was the night we?—”
“I know,” I said, cutting him off.
Trust me, I remember every single detail of that humiliating, yet strangely beautiful night.There was nothing remotely romantic about hearing the guy I had a crush on for forever admit to having feelings for me after I threw up in his car, on his front porch, and all over his bathroom before making it to the toilet. But it had happened. Raphael, who’d sat on the cold bathroom floor with me as I threw up the entire contents of my stomach, had gone to retrieve the items he had someone pick up for him. While he was gone, I scolded myself for getting so fucked up and embarrassing myself in front of the guy I’d liked for a long time. Unbeknownst to me, Raphael had been eavesdropping. He’d heard the entire three-minute rant but didn’t confess his feelings for me until he was driving me back to school.
That night would ultimately change the entire face of our relationship.
He tossed me a wink that made my heart flutter. “But no, this wouldn’t be in the way you’re thinking. This would be a cannabis-infused, non-alcoholic wine. Each bottle would contain less than zero-percent alcohol, and the amount of THC or CBD per bottle can vary from twenty to about forty milligrams.”
“Not enough to get you really high?—”
“But enough to relax you,” he finished. “And because there’s no alcohol, you can’t get hungover.”
I perked up. “Okay. Now, I really wanna know more.”
“I’ll tell you, but not today.” He pointed to his watch. “I’ve already taken up enough of your time. However, there are two other ventures I wanted to mention. Both involve less risks. As you may or may not know, WTP has The High Society, an exclusive membership-only group for our VIPs. There are two tiers: the Founding Flowers and the Joint Chiefs of Stash. Each tier has its own perks, which can vary from discounts on purchases to the Bud Box, a triannual subscription box containing different, and exclusive products. This year, I want to do an edible/wine pairing. We’ll work together to create a pairing with notes that complement each other. I know it takes months, even years to produce a good bottle.”
“So you wouldn’t expect newly produced bottles?”
He shook his head. “At some point. If this works out, maybe that’s something we can visit down the line. I might’ve mentioned it to Dina and your grandmother. I would love to create an HPV wine based off strands I’m cultivating, but for this, it wouldn’t be necessary.”
“When would you need an answer by?”
“That’s the thing,” Raphael began, scrubbing a hand down his face, “I wanna debut a sample of the infused wine at WTP’s annual Smoker’s Soiree on four-twenty.” He glanced at his wrist again, eyes widening as he noted the time. Raphael stood. “I hate to cut this meeting short, but I gotta head out. However, the Smoker’s Soiree was my next topic of discussion. I heard in addition to being HFV’s chief vintner, you’re also the go-to person about possibly hosting events on the property.”
I stood as well. “Yeah, for a few months, until my cousin comes back from maternity leave.”
“Good. I’m looking for a venue and was hoping HFV would be open to me having it here.”
“Honestly, I don’t think anyone would object, but email me the specifics, including the budget, possible guest count, and other important event details. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.” Raphael flashed me a look of disbelief, and I laughed. “Don’t be like that, Raphe. I’m serious. By the end of the week, you’ll have your answers.”
“I’m holding you to it.” He held up a folder. “I didn’t get the chance to do my presentation, but here’s what you’ll need to know about everything I mentioned today. If you have any questions, you can hit me up. My contact info is in there as well.”
“Okay.” I opened the folder, noting the card in the front, and smiled. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Raphael headed to the door, stopping to grab his coat off the rack. “Oh, and, Dream?” he called over his shoulder.
“Hmmm …”
“I hope by the time you let me know if we have a deal or not, you’re prepared to have that other conversation.”
Without another word, he turned the handle and left. An unexpected wave of disappointment swirled within me as the door clicked shut. Even as I told myself Raphael leaving was the best thing for my psyche, there was a voice in my head screaming at me to stop him. The sudden back and forth of my emotions surrounding Raphael were terrifying and confusing, yet giddiness blossomed in my chest at the thought of seeing him again. The last forty-five minutes confirmed what I’d suspected since the gala. I hadn’t worked through the remnants of my feelings for Raphael like I thought, and if I didn’t figure something out, this collaboration would fail before it began.