Page 79 of Zimyra

“How’s it going?” he asks.

“It’s going. Everyone is having a good time, as you can see. I’m glad I didn’t cancel.”

“When I suggested you cancel, it wasn’t to punish them. It was for you. I was thinking about what you needed.”

“Yeah, well, either way, I’m glad I didn’t cancel.”

I eat a few chips.

He asks, “How are you, Zimyra?”

There’s that question again. Everybody wants to know how I am, especially him. I told him I was fine when he came to Zander’s house on Tuesday. I didn’t talk to him on Wednesday or Thursday, even though he reached out to me. And earlier today at work, after I gave him the maintenance report for the day, I made it clear that I didn’t want to be hounded about my well-being. I wanted to be left alone. I even locked the lobby door to ensure that I was.

“Zimyra—”

“I’m good,” I say, my blood boiling with irritation, but I keep it together and pretend I’m unfazed by his constant prodding into my life.

“Can you look at me and say that?”

I eat more chips and ignore his request. I pick up my water bottle from the counter and prepare to walk back over to join the others when he grabs my forearm.

I immediately snatch my arm away and, being as discreet as I can, I say between clenched teeth, “Do not touch me.”

He frowns. “Zimyra, what is this? You’re afraid of me all of a sudden?”

“I didn’t ask you to come here, nor do I need you here.”

I keep walking to the table. I hadn’t planned on painting, but he done pissed me off. I need to do something to quell my frustration, so painting it is. They say it’s therapeutic. I’m about to find out if there’s any truth to that.

“I don’t remember the last time I painted anything, Mr. Alton.”

“Yeah, I noticed you didn’t paint the last time you put one of these together.”

“I know. I just try to do it for y’all, but since there are two spots left, and it’s already eight, I may as well jump in, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. You know I look forward to these little get-togethers every month. I’m so glad you put these together for us.”

“You’re welcome. Next month, I was thinking about doing an ice cream social.”

“Ooh—that sounds good. Maybe I can find me a lil’ something-something.”

“Mr. Alton!” I say tickled.

“I had an idea, Zimyra,” Ms. Hernandez says.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you threw a prom? We could all dress in gowns and just have a good time dancing the night away,” she says, then does a little shimmy.

“I like that,” I tell her. I’m going to make a note of that, Ms. Hernandez.”

“Ay, I want to know what this ice cream bar stuff will entail,” Mr. Baker says. “I have a serious sweet tooth.”

I’m surprised Mr. Baker came to this event because he’s never come to any in the past, but he seems to be enjoying himself.

I explain, “So, I will have vanilla ice cream with all the toppings you can think of, and you’ll dress it up how you want it.”

“Mmm…that does sound good,” Mrs. Phillips chimes in. “Just in time for summer.”

---