Page 90 of The Sweetest Devotion

“Of course,” he muttered.

Keith took our waters and set them inside to stay cool while we worked up a thirst.

First up, he was insistent on teaching me how to mow a lawn. A task that seemed daunting. Perhaps I was overthinking, but I couldn’t help imagining how many toes or entire feet were lost in lawn-mowing related injuries a year.

I liked to think I had pretty feet.

Wiggling my toes in my shoes, I faced Keith apprehensively. “Yeah?”

“It’s nothing to it,” Keith assured as he guided me in front of the bright green mower. Unlike at my parents’ house, his yard wasn’t for a riding mower, but a push mower. “Some people use gas mowers, and some use electric. This is a gas powered one. Kinda old school, but it gets the job done best.”

Mentally, I penciled this information down.If ever I purchase a home, get a gas running lawn mower.

Keith went and instructed me on each individual part, the control bar, the engine start lever, the recoil start and so on. It all sounded simple enough, until he wanted me to go and power on the mower.

I followed the steps from his brief tutorial, except when I went to pull the cord, the lawn mower didn’t come to life. I yanked again. And again. And again, nearly ripping my arm out of the socket.

I groaned. “Dammit.”

Tapping at my hip whirled me around as Keith came and helped me. With ease, he pulled the cord and the lawn mower started. He stepped back, out of the way, allowing me to take over.

Tentatively, I stepped up to the machine and gulped. This whole thing was to teach me to fend for myself, in case of emergencies—but surely if I ever did hit rock bottom I could scrape up a few coins enough to pay someone to handle my yard, right?

Better yet, I would just live in an apartment. Problem solved.

My hands shook as I put them on the bar. Suddenly, Keith’s much larger hands were on either side of mine as his chest brushed against my back. All at once my anxiety slipped away at the sense of his nearness. His hands were on mine as he walked with me, helping me mow my first patch of grass. The lawn mower vibrated in my palms and it was a little heavy for a beginner like me, but it otherwise wasn’t so arduous.

Still, I faked uncertainty, just to have Keith close, just to feel him against me, teaching me.

Together we mowed a line from his house to the back fence.

“Try to get all straight lines,” Keith said into my ear before releasing me to do another row on my own.

Internally, I pouted at his absence, but I faced the task head-on. I wanted to make him proud, and most of all, I wanted to accomplish this to prove to myself that I could.

Even still, Keith only let me mow so much of his yard before he swooped in to finish. He did his lines with precision and expertise. It was okay, though, because he didn’t go over my work. My lines were fine and even, making me proud.

Next, he taught me to immediately empty the bag, so that the next time I went to mow my lawn I wouldn’t encounter a full bag and potentially have to stop and empty it while I was mowing. From there he taught me how to trim hedges, when to water the grass, when to fertilize, and then we got down to weed by his poinsettias arranged by his back patio.

Keith weeded on one end of the patch of flowers while I worked on the other. His wireless speaker sat on the back porch, playing more old school hip-hop and R&B. A Case song was playing, its melancholy content ruining my mood. “Missing You” was always such an emotional ballad.

To ignore the song playing, I began talking, anything to block out those lyrics. “So, have you lived here your whole life?”

Silence met my question for a moment and I briefly realized we were breaking another rule. We weren’t supposed to get to know each other. Then again, we weren’t supposed to do lawn work either, but here we were, thanks to me.

I looked over, finding Keith running his hand over his right arm, where thatBHlandscape tattoo was embedded in his skin. A declaration of love for his city. “Yeah. It’s tough as shit at times, but ain’t no place I’d rather be. I love the Heights.”

His words echoed Jadyn’s through and through. It was another driving force in why she wanted to write films about Black women in the hood existing and experiencing life, because she loved the world of Bedford Heights so much.

“I love it here, too,” I whispered.

“You do?” Of course Keith had heard me.

“Things are so low key here. I can go out for lunch without someone snapping a photo or hounding me about my personal life. When I’m home, I always have to watch my back,” I said. “Being my father’s daughter comes with somewhat of a spotlight, but when I dated my ex, Guy, that’s when I really rose to social media fame.”

“Guy?” Keith repeated curiously.

“Yeah. It’s short for Gaius.” I nodded bitterly. “He’s, uh, a player for the Long Beach Sharks, actually.”

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