Page 32 of Crash: Love in Scrubs
“Give me some real vocals, real instruments, real love songs and you’ve got me. And don’t let it be summer, that’s when I’m really in my element.”
I watched her sway slightly to the rhythm, completely unselfconscious, and made a mental note. This woman had depth, substance. She wasn’t trying to impress me with whatever was trending; she knew what she liked and wasn’t ashamed of it.
“What else are you old school about?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Movies, definitely. Give me something from the ‘90s over this new mess.” She laughed. “I still watch Cry Baby, Poetic Justice, Jason’s Lyric, all the classics. And I’m old school about love, too.”
“Jason’s Lyric? Now that’s a deep cut,” I said, impressed. “You got a thing for bad boys?”
“Maybe,” she said with a mischievous smile that made me look away from her.
That’s when she hit me with it.
“You know I gotta ask. Why is a fine-ass man like you single? I mean, you’re a doctor for crying out loud. Nobody snatched you up?”
I looked at her for a moment, considering how much truth to give her. “And I could ask the same about you. And don’t say Samaj, niggas love playing stepdaddy. I just knew when I looked at your chart, it would say married.”
“Touché,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “But I asked first.”
I slowly stopped eating and looked over at her. She was looking me over trying to spot some hidden defect. I thought back to what Winnie said about her thinking I was defective or something because it was too good to be true. The truth was I that I felt the same about Sametra.
I shrugged instead of answering. My real answer felt like too much.
“You got your shit together, you’re successful, you look like... well, you know you’re fine as hell. What’s the catch? You got extra toes? A crazy ex?” she asked. “Wait, no, a mama’s boy. That’s gotta be it.”
I laughed at the extra toes before I leaned back on my elbows, considering how much truth to give her. Again, my real answer would leave me vulnerable. I’m talking wide the fuck open, and as much as I liked Sametra, I didn’t want to be hurt either.
“I’ve been focused on building my life. Getting where I wanted to be professionally, taking care of my mom, making sure I could handle whatever came next.”
It was half of the truth.
“That’s a safe answer.”
“You want the real answer? You sure?” I was weighing my options because I didn’t want to scare her off, but I also didn’t want to lie to her. I didn’t need to play games about what I felt. Call it love bombing, call it simping, call it being reckless, but when it came down to it, call meHusband of the Yearbecause that’s what I was gonna be if she kept looking in my eyes the way she was. One look was making me want to skip all the games and get straight to forever.Fuck it.
“Always.”
“Because they weren’t you. I know that’s a lot to say on a first date, but I know what I know. And I’m the man that’s going to change your name one day.”
She sat with her mouth open, and I closed it with my pointer finger. “You gon catch a fly like that, beautiful. And you heard me correctly.”
She scooted closer to me and whispered, “Why do I believe you?”
I looked down into her bright eyes and almost fell into a trance. Her eyes swirled with beautiful hues of brown and gold, it felt like looking into the Milky Way. I kissed her forehead, and she rested it on my shoulder.
Another beat of silence passed between us, her head still resting against me, before she pulled back to look at me.
“You know we don’t really know each other like that yet, right?” she said, but she was smiling. “I mean, you just said you’re gonna marry me, but I don’t even know your middle name.”
“Jerome. Malik Jerome Holloway.” I grinned back at her. “What else do you need to know about your future husband?”
“First of all, Romy Rome, let’s pause there. Jerome?”
“Nah, let’s keep moving,” I said, laughing. “Yolanda was wilding when she named me Jerome. We went new school and then old school. A fucking mess.”
She laughed because she knew it was true. And I couldn’t help but smile while she relished in my pain.
“Well, at least your middle name isn’t a variation of your dad’s. Jonelle, John-Dale. You aren’t alone.”
