Page 157 of Can't Get Enough

“How do you do it day in and day out, Aunt G?” I ask. “I feel so unsure and inadequate most of the time.”

“He’s my very present help,” she says, and it sounds like a script she learned and continues to recite.

Faith has always seemed to come easily to Mama and Aunt Geneva, and to their mother before them. They passed it onto me like a wedding dress every woman in our family eventually wore. Once it got to me, though, it needed to be let out or taken in. Something about the way it lay against my beliefs and rationales never quite fit. I’ve often wondered how I can make this garment that has always brought them so much peace, mine. When I’m more helpless and confused than I’ve ever felt, could it ever suit me? Could it help me?

“Tell me the real answer,” I press. “How do you trust God when this kind of shit happens?”

Aunt Geneva doesn’t even blink at the imprecation in what has been, for all intents and purposes, a cuss-free zone my entire life.

“I love Him,” she says simply. “And I believe that He loves me and is working all things out for my good. That’s not always what’s easiest. Can you truly love someone you don’t trust? I don’t think so.”

Do I love Maverick? It’s the first time I’ve asked the question this directly of myself. Attraction. Companionship. Commitment, even. But love? That is a word reserved for people who prove they deserve it, and no man has proven it adequately to get that word from me.

But if anyone’s ever stood a chance, it’s Maverick Bell.

My phone vibrates on the desk with a text message, and I crane my neck to see it’s in my thread with Kashawn and Nelly. I kiss the top of Aunt Geneva’s head and release her.

“Let me see what these girls want, Aunt G.”

“I’mma go finish dinner,” she says.

I flop into the office chair and grab the phone.

Nelly:Looks like your boy showed us whose side he’s on.

Kashawn:It doesn’t make all our problems go away, but it’s nice to see he’s got your back, Hen.

Me:What are you talking about???

Nelly sends a link and I click it, eager, but also apprehensive to see.

Tech mogul withdraws offer for Vegas Vipers, citing owner Andrew Carverson’s involvement with Aspire Fund lawsuit.

The article also indicates that the “whistleblower” who exposed the businessmen funding CFE’s suit against us is actually Andrew Carverson’s daughter, who leaked private documents stored at his home. The piece goes on to detail Maverick’s announcement minutes ago that he would no longer be purchasing the Vipers, a team he has recently been vocal about buying.

“I know it sounds funny coming from someone who has a lot of money,” the article quotes Maverick. “But money isn’t everything. Not when corrupt individuals are out here trying to roll the years back to a time when people who looked like me had fewer opportunities. How could anyone I love trust me if I set that aside to do business with someone now using legislation designed to protect us to set us back? How could I trust myself?”

How could anyone I love trust me…

Love. Love. Love.

The word reverberates through the chambers of my heart, echoing and piercing the tender flesh of my emotions.

Maverick did it. He really did it.

He is making this sacrifice for our community, yes. For Aspire, yes. But forme. I know it on a cellular level where my skin vibrates,anticipating his touch again. I don’t have an outlet for this emotion running rampant through me right now. I have to tell someone the good news.

Iknowhim. I trust him.

Shit, I love him.

And he chose me.

“Aunt G!” I shout, rushing out of the office and down the hall to the kitchen. “Guess what…”

I don’t finish the words because a gargantuan arrangement of champagne roses dominates the kitchen counter. There must be fifty of them in one vase. Not sure if that math can even be mathing right, but the smell of those roses, the beauty of them—the significance of them—takes my breath away.

“Oh, God!” I cover my mouth and turn wide eyes on my mother and aunt, who watch me with smiles on their faces. I pluck one of the roses from the vase and lift it to my nose. “He sent these?”

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