Page 52 of Lily In The Valley
“To Charisse,” he said, lifting the glass.
I hesitated, then clinked mine against his. “To Mama.”
The first sip burned all the way down. It felt good. Punishing. I wanted more. By the time we were two drinks in, the DJ played hit after hit. The bass vibrated through the floor, up the booth, and into my body. I let my head fall back against the booth and closed my eyes.
“I should be crying not throwing back tequila like it’s water, huh?” I half-asked without looking at Khalil.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he replied.
“But that’s what people expect. When you lose someone close, you fall apart. Be messy. Be broken.”
He didn’t answer right away. When I opened my eyes, he was watching me too closely.
“I’m not falling apart,” I said. “I’m adapting.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
He leaned forward. “You want to talk about what you’re feeling?”
“No,” I said flatly. “That’s the point of the drinks.”
He sighed and rubbed his hand over his jaw. I could feel his judgment creeping in, even if he didn’t say it. I downed the rest of my drink and signaled for another. When it arrived, I cradled it in my hands and stared at it like it held secrets.
“Can I tell you something?” I said, voice softer now, almost childlike.
“Of course.”
“I didn’t feel anything today.”
Khalil’s eyebrows pulled together.
“I mean it,” I said. “At the church. At the burial. Even at the repast. I just…watched. Like it wasn’t real. Like I was attending someone else’s funeral.”
His voice was careful. “That’s not abnormal.”
“But what if it doesn’t hit later? What if it never comes? What does that say about me? The world fell apart, but I kept moving like business as usual.”
He reached across the table, taking the drink from my hands. “Grief doesn’t look one way.”
His hand covered mine. I stared at it. It was warm. Steady. Too steady. I pulled back, taking my drink. We left the lounge before midnight. The ride to my house was quiet. The song was still stuck in my head. Just one line.
“I know I’ve been changed…”
It played in the rhythm of the tires on the road. It echoed in the space between us. It matched the taps of the bedframe as I worked to rid it from my mind atop Khalil. Riding him fast and hard before collapsing on top. But it never left. I went to sleep with it on repeat, a substitute for sleep. And for the first time all day, I felt afraid.
Chapter 17
Kelly
Spring 2013 - Xavier University, New Orleans, LA
The library had closedhours ago, but my desk lamp was still going strong, casting a buttery glow across my lab notes and a half dozen highlighters bleeding into the pages. My laptop was wheezing from being overworked, and my body wasn’t far behind. I rubbed my temples and stared at the blinking cursor in my doc, daring it to type for me. If willpower could earn a degree, I’d have two by now.
That faint bass line of Bryson Tiller crept through the wall. Vanessa’s room. She and Xavier had been holed up for hours now, no doubt whispering sweet nothings between kisses. I didn’t mind it most nights. They were cute or whatever. But tonight? I felt like the last single bitch on Earth.
A knock came at the door from the kitchenette. Not a quick, polite knock either. This one was lazy and familiar. Only one person knocked like that. I cracked open the door. Khalil stood there in a purple and gold hoodie and gray sweats, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes sleepy but bright.
