12. Josiah #3
She looked at it. “You letting me pick?”
“I invited a woman with five children and a salon full of opinions into my house. I’m not foolish enough to control the movie.”
“Smart man.”
“Trying to be.”
She chose an old, romantic comedy she said she watched whenever her emotions were “acting unemployed.” I didn’t ask for a definition. Some Celeste phrases needed acceptance, not explanation.
Little by little, she relaxed until her shoulder rested against mine.
I lowered the volume a little.
She glanced over. “I can hear it.”
“I know.”
“Then why you turned it down?”
“Your shoulders dropped when it got quieter.”
Her eyes stayed on mine.
Then she looked away. “You notice too much.”
“I notice you.”
She took a breath that moved the blanket.
A few minutes later, she shifted closer. Not all the way. Just enough for her knee to brush my thigh. I kept my hands to myself. She shifted again during the next scene, close enough that her shoulder touched my arm.
Then she looked at me. “Can I lean on you?”
My chest tightened.
“You can do whatever helps you rest.”
Her head lowered to my shoulder slowly, like trust had to move one inch at a time. When her cheek settled against me, I let out a breath I’d been holding.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “I’m okay.”
I drew the blanket higher over her legs. “You cold?”
“No.”
“You comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
She turned her face slightly toward my chest. “Josiah.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Watch the movie.”
I looked at the screen. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her hand found my forearm beneath the blanket a few minutes later. Her fingers traced the ink near my wrist, slow and gentle.
She asked, “Do they mean something?”
“The tattoos?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Most of them.”
“Will you tell me one?”
I turned my wrist so she could see the script. “This one says rooted.”
“Rooted.”
“I got it after I came home.”
“From prison?”
“Yes.”
She traced the word once. “Why rooted?”
“Because I spent three years feeling like my life had been pulled up by the roots. When I came home, Mama told me pulled-up things can be replanted if the root is still alive.”
Celeste was quiet.
Then she whispered, “I’m glad your root was still alive.”
I looked down.
Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep yet. I brushed my fingers gently along her arm.
She sighed.
“You good?”
She nodded against me. “Mm-hmm.”
“You tell me if you need me to stop.”
“I will.” A few minutes passed. Then she said, “Josiah?”
“Yes?”
“I haven’t dated because I didn’t want to compare anybody to a dead man.”
I stilled but kept my hand gentle.
She continued with her eyes closed. “That sounds harsh, but it’s true. Jamal can’t disappoint me now. He can’t leave socks on the floor. He can’t forget a bill. He can’t get old and get on my nerves. Memory makes people unfairly perfect sometimes, even when you know better.”
“I understand.”
“And I didn’t want to sit across from some man, searching for flaws because I was scared if he had none, I’d like him.”
The movie light flickered across the wall.
I asked, “And now?”
Her fingers curled softly into my shirt. “Now I’m sitting on your couch trying not to like you too much.”
My heart kicked against my ribs. “How’s that going?”
“Terribly.”
I smiled toward the TV. “Good.”
She laughed softly. “What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Why haven’t you dated in so long?”
I let my fingers slow against her arm. “Because I didn’t trust myself to choose well. After Domonique and after everything with Zeke, I knew my heart could be loyal past wisdom. I needed to learn the difference between wanting somebody and being ready to build with them.”
“And now?”
I looked down at her. “Now I know the difference.”
Her eyes opened.
“What’s the difference?”
“Wanting somebody can be loud. Building with somebody is steady. Want can make promises in the dark. Building keeps them in daylight. Want reaches. Building asks. Want gets impatient. Building understands anything worth having deserves a foundation deeper than feelings.”
Her eyes searched mine.
“I want you, Celeste. I’m not going to lie about that. But I want to build with you more than I want to rush you.”
Her lips parted.
“You make it hard to be scared,” she whispered.
I brushed my thumb near her wrist. “No, I don’t. Fear is still there. I just want to make sure it doesn’t have to sit by itself.”
She closed her eyes again.
“You keep saying stuff like that, and I’m going to fall asleep on you.”
“Then fall asleep.”
“That’s rude.”
“That’s permission.”
She smiled without opening her eyes. “You always have an answer.”
“Not always.”
“Tonight you do.”
“Tonight, I have you on my couch. I’m motivated.”
She laughed once, then went quiet.
She fell asleep like her body had been waiting for permission it didn’t know how to ask for.
I lowered the volume until the movie became a whisper.
The house settled around us while Celeste slept against me, and I didn’t move.
I looked down at her face and kissed her forehead softly enough not to wake her.
“You shouldn’t be scared,” I whispered.
She didn’t stir.
I brushed one loc back from her cheek.
“God didn’t bring you to my door for me to mishandle you.”
The promise rising in me was too big for a sleeping woman, so I kept most of it between me and God.
If You trust me with this woman, I’ll cover her.
I’ll honor what came before me and protect what You’re growing now.
I’ll learn her children, not tolerate them.
I’ll never make them feel like loving their mother means losing their father all over again.
And if You allow a future beyond what I can see tonight, I’ll treat it like sacred ground.
Celeste shifted and settled deeper against me.
I smiled despite the ache in my chest.
Being desired was one thing.
Being trusted with her rest felt like covenant before language.
I wanted to give her more than a good evening. I wanted to give her consistency. Prayer. Truth. A pantry ready for her babies. A love rooted enough to stay.
If I ever loved Celeste Coleman out loud, it wouldn’t be reckless.
It would be rooted.
The movie faded to credits neither of us watched. I stayed still with one arm around her and the other resting over the blanket. My phone lit once on the coffee table, then went dark again.
Pretty Red
I looked down at her and smiled.
Not yet.
One day, I’d say it where she could hear me.
For now, I kissed her forehead once more and let the woman God placed in my living room sleep like fear had finally gotten tired too.