Page 11 of Isn't She Lucky
He orders some shrimp, and we proceed to place our entrée orders at the same time. I get the $375 grilled chicken. For this price, it had better come with a side of golden eggs and a stimulus check. Kasim orders the $500 steak dinner. Five hundred dollars!
When the server walks away, Kasimgives me his full attention. I almost hate the fact that he doesn’t have a menu to stare at any longer and neither do I. It’s just us looking at each other now. Remembering things. Familiarizing ourselves with the different versions of us.
“So—do you still live in Gastonia?”
“Yep. Still here. Mom’s there, so…” I say as if I’m required to stay there just because she’s there. In a way, I feel obligated. My mom sacrificed so much for me, and my father wasn’t around, so she had to do it all. Now it’s up to me to make sure she’s well taken care of. Do I want to live in Gastonia? No, I don’t. I’ve dreamed of leaving this place, starting a new life, and being this carefree, adventurous person I was as a teenager. But those dreams shriveled up and died years ago.
Kasim smirks. “Hey, how’d you end up at the auction, anyway? It’s not something I can see you doing voluntarily.”
“Oh, you don’t want to tell me whyyou’rehere, but you want to know whyI’mhere?”
His phone rings – one of those loud, obnoxious ones that immediately captures people’s attention. He takes it out, silences it, and says, “Sorry about that,” before sliding it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. “I’m here to satisfy a requirement for the company. Showing my face in charity work is good for the organization.”
“Right…” I say, not impressed by his answer. This is a photo op for him. Again, it lacks feeling, the same as his statement about his parents, but on what grounds do I have to be judgmental when I didn’t even want to come here?
I say, “I’m here because my best friend, Diedra, talked me into it.”
His lips twist to one corner as he mutters, “I remember whenIused to be your best friend.”
“What was that?” I ask like I didn’t make out what he said, but I did.
“Nothing,” he answers.
I swallow the knot in my throat at his words because in his eyes, I see the feeling behind them, but I’m not sure why. Yeah, we used to be tight, but that ended when we were fourteen. We’re adults now. We have lives. Jobs. Responsibilities. Deadlines. We’re not besties anymore. That’s been over and done with.
He takes a sip of water. I mimic him and do the same, relieving the dryness in my throat. I should’ve ordered a drink – something that will help me ease into this conversation, because this water isn’t going to cut it.
“Hey, what about a bottle of wine?” he asks. You’d think the man was reading my thoughts.
“I would love some, but it’s probably an arm and two legs. Perhaps I could sell a kidney.”
He snickers under this breath. “No worries.” He throws up his index finger for our server, then after successfully summoning her, he tells her to bring a bottle of their finest wine. He doesn’t give a crap about the price.
Moments later, she’s back with wine. A gentleman brings the butterfly shrimp – the appetizer – all six of them for $275. All I can do is shake my head, thinking how insane it is for food to be priced this high. I bet I could get this same shrimp at Red Lobster and it probably tastes better, too.
The server pops the cork, pours us both some wine and walks away. I immediately drink mine and pour more into my glass.
Kasim smirks and says, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were nervous.”
“Oh, I am.”
Very much so.
“Why? It’s just me.”
It’s just me…
He says it like nothing’s changed – as if we can fall back into the rhythm we once had all those years ago, when that is completely impossible. Kasim Noble was my whole world back then. We grew up together at the age of eight – two kids trying to find their way in life and discovering things about ourselves. Honestly, I was infatuated with him. I’d never had a real friend before him. Them church girls my mom tried to force me to be friends with don’t count. Plus, being a tomboy made those girls shy away from me. They said I was weird, and I was cool with that. I suppose if I was into makeup and ballet,I would’ve fit in. But perhaps if I were, I would’ve never met Kasim.
“Alright, folks. Here’s your grilled chicken, madam, and your steak, sir.”
“Appreciate it,” Kasim says.
“Thank you.”
“Bon appétit,” he says before leaving us.
Kasim cuts into the steak and says, “Tell me something new,” then stabs the meat with the fork and brings it to his mouth with the fork turned backward, the way you would expect someone to eat a five-hundred-dollar steak.
