Page 42 of The Last Man on Earth
“How we lookin’?” I ask, tossing another wrapper in the fire.
She glances up at me. “You want the positive version, or the realistic one?”
“Ummmmm…” I think about it like a waiter just asked if I want my drink neat or on the rocks. “You know what? I’m feeling good tonight. Give me both.”
“Well, the positive is that we have plenty of food and water to get us through tomorrow.”
“Cool.”
“The realistic is that we’ll probably be very, very hungry next week.”
I nod slowly, watching the fire lick the edges of the last wrapper. My eyes find her again, and I notice it—her body’s already changing. She’s in a plain white t-shirt and grey boy shorts, and I see it. She’s losing weight. My first instinct is to say something, but I stop myself, because you never really know how a black woman will take a comment about that. I’ve seen women take that shit real hard.
I ain’t riskin’ it.
Besides, she’s fine as fuck either way.
When she finally settles on the blanket, I stare at her. Bare legs stretched out, hair all wild and free, a little lip gloss shining on her mouth. She’s so fuckin’ sexy, and without even trying. My mouth runs away from me before my brain can catch up.
“Aye,” I grin, “you feelin’ lonely right now?”
Her eyes narrow slightly, her smile small and tight. “Youwouldsay that, wouldn’t you?”
“What you mean?”
“I shared something personal with you, Villain. And instead of actually listening and understanding, you just turn it into a joke. You use it to tease me.”
Anger flares, and I open my mouth to fire back and defend myself, but something stops the reflex.
She’s right.
Shemari be on me about that, too. Well, she just tells me I play too fuckin’ much, but she never really explains it. She just cusses my ass out, then we argue, then we fuck. Lather, rinse, repeat.
But sitting here looking at Ari, hearing her say that shit plainly, I feel shame about it.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”
She nods once, but I can still see it in her eyes. It hurt her feelings. And I wanna fix it. I wanna do something to smooth out the rough edge of my words.
“Can I…wash your hair tomorrow?” I ask.
Her brows lift a little, then her face goes back hard again. “I’ll think about it.”
“You got shampoo?”
“I have body wash,” she says, her eyes locked on the flames. “And leave-in conditioner.”
“That’ll work,” I say. “But your hair is beautiful just like that.”
She hesitates before answering like the words are too expensive to say. She finally croaks out, “Thanks,” but she didn’t want to. That’s clear.
The fire snaps, throwing glowing embers in the air like confetti. I take a deep breath and try again.
“What’s something you would want people to know about you? Something old boy never bothered to ask you?”
That softens her a little. She leans back on her hands, moving her feet from side to side. “This isn’t really anything profound or deep. But, like, he doesn’t know what I like to do sometimes when I’m at home by myself.”
I lean in a little.
