Page 14 of Overdue Feelings
She didn’t crack a joke this time. She just stared at me the way she always did when she knew I needed space to say the shit I didn’t want to admit.
“I know she loves me,” I said quietly. “But the only dude I’ve ever known who could shift that is him. Creek loved him. Like...she ain’t say it back then, but I could feel it. They crossed that friendship line long before we ever did.”
“You trust her?” Zee folded her arms, mouth tight.
“Yeah, of course.” I hesitated. “It’s the past I don’t trust. I don’t feel like fighting it.”
“What if he ain’t come back for a fight? What if he came back for peace?”
I sat up again. I could tell by the look on her face that she had more to say.
“Maybe it’s not that you’re afraid she’ll leave, but maybe you’re scared to admit you have some unfinished business with Ares too.”
I blinked. What type of unfinished business was she referring to?
“I’m not talking about that, you nasty. I mean, Ares was your boy. You two were like brothers. It’s okay for Creek to miss him, and it’s okay for you to miss him too. You’re grieving a friendship and pretending it’s all about Creek, but friendship, just like love, is hard to forget. You can miss both, big bro.”
I looked away. That truth was hitting too damn hard.
“This why I don’t like talking to yo’ ass.”
“Whatever. You love me.” She stood from the bleachers and blew the whistle, letting the kids know they could bring it in. “You’re going to have to face it, Bro.” She bumped her shoulder against mine. “The past. Him. Her feelings. Yours. Y’all need to hash it out.”
“Yeah.” I looked back toward the building. Ares was already inside but looked anyway. “Eventually, but it ain’t today.” I dismissed the conversation and stood to meet the kids on the track. “Not today,” I repeated to myself.
“Gigi, would you sit down? You don’t have to set the table. Zae got it.” I heard Creek fussing from the kitchen just as I made my way into the dining room. I shook my head from the doorway as Gigi grabbed four Christmas glass plates from the cupboards.
“Huh, girl. I know how to host dinner in my own house.” Gigi huffed, laying the plates out on the dining room table.
“Gigi, you’re not at your house. You’re at ours,” I said, walking up behind her. “I got this.” I pulled out a chair and helped her lower herself into it.
“Y’all think just cause I’m a little older, I don’t know how to do nothing?”
“Grandma, you got forks on the left, knives upside down, and spoons sittin’ in the sugar jar,” Creek said as she handed me the right dishes for the table.
“I’ve been servin’ meals since before y’alls mama was born.”
“And we love you for it. Now sit yo’ beautiful self down so I can serve you.”
“I don’t need a valet for the table.” She huffed, swatting at my hand. I grinned and kept setting her place anyway, laying the napkin across her lap like it was for a Queen because she was. She was all Creek had left, and that made her precious cargo to me.
“I can place my own lap napkin.” She snatched the napkin out my hand, and I held my hands up in surrender. Gigi never sat still easily. She didn’t care that she was nearly eighty-years-old and had suffered two strokes. She didn’t care that sometimes her days ran together. She hated being taken care of. On gooddays, she was reading folks for filth, but on the not-so-good ones, she barely knew who or where she was. We’d learned not to correct her much anymore. Just held the moment long enough for her to find her way back.
“Dinner’s almost done,” Creek announced from the kitchen.
“I hope it’s better than your last attempt. That chicken was dry as a Popeye’s biscuit,” she mumbled as she laid the napkin perfectly on her lap.
“You overcook one bird two Thanksgivings ago, and you never live it down,” Creek mumbled.
“You sure? Could’ve sworn it was yesterday.”
“It was two years ago, Gigi,” I said gently. “But it was so dry we both still got PTSD.”
Gigi chuckled, and Creek threw a wash rag at me.
“What? You gotta start somewhere.” We all burst into laughter as Creek and I placed the food on the table. Greens, fried chicken, and macaroni and cheese. My girl could cook, but if she was cooking like this, it meant that she was spiraling.
“Connie, who taught you how to cook? Last time I checked, you burned water,” Gigi asked, calling Creek her mother’s name. Her gaze drifted from the plate to the wall behind me and stayed there. The table quieted as Creek took her seat. Gigi was drifting again.
