Page 51 of The Marriage Narrative
Of course he did.Writerhad been staring Jordan in the face the entire time.
Wylie wore the headphones because helovedto read. Early intervention had been pivotal in helping him get help for dyslexia. One of his tutors introduced him to audiobooks and that was it. He became obsessed with storytelling. Fiction, memoirs, even self-help books—he’d read anything as long as it was worth listening to.
Not to mention he’d grown up watching Sadie, a master storyteller who crafted their real lives into a show better than any soap opera ever written. A feat that would probably be studied for years to come.
“But Lu already did that with her poet phase.” His brother shrugged. “We’re not supposed to repeat storylines.”
“Fuck a storyline. We’re talking about your life. What kind of writing? Novels? Nonfiction? What? Have you started? Can I read any of your stuff?”
“No. Stop being weird.”
“Never.” He fist-bumped Wylie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out.”
“All right. Do you think she’ll like this?” He gestured to his newly planted flowers.
“She’s gonna love it. Trust me. You know, she loves readingtoo. I’ll send you some of her favorite books. It’ll give you two something to talk about.”
“I don’t wannatalkto her. That’s the whole reason why I did this instead.” Wylie pulled a small lawn statue out of his pocket—a little Black girl with afro puffs dressed as a fairy—and set it in the center of his flower bed.
Wylie must’ve bought it at the nursery when Jordan wasn’t looking.
His brother was going to be just fine.
Zinnia
Nothing said big happy family like mandatory dinners in the dining room. All that was missing were giant glasses of milk and they’d be a proper sitcom bunch.
She was sitting in her usual spot with Jordan on her left and Damon at the head of the table on her right. An unexpected tiny corner of peace in the one room that gave her stress flashbacks.
Jordan’s skin was both redder and browner than it’d been that morning. She hesitantly raised her hand before rushing the follow-through. Holding his encouraging gaze, she rubbed his cheek with the back of her hand. It was warm from the sun and scratchy from his five o’clock shadow.
“Did you wear sunscreen today?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“Skin cancer. Melanin doesn’t stop us from getting it.”
“You worry too much.” He caught her wrist, kissed her knuckles, and lowered their joined hands under the table.
This was all for show, and yet he didn’t drop her hand as soon as it was out of sight. Unfamiliar warmth surged under her skin. Jordan gave his affection freely, as natural as breathing for him, and it made her feel so wanted.
He had her beat with physicality, but she could still hold her own.
“Worrying about you, and yourhandsomeface, is my job.”
He raised a wry eyebrow, no doubt sensing her very obvious trap. “You think I’m handsome?”
“I think you think you’re handsome,” she joked, tugging on his chin. Leaning close to him, she draped her arm around the back of his chair and admired his face. She gave the camera enough time to capture her exact feelings on the matter before coyly whispering to him, “Who am I to disagree?”
“Well played,” he murmured. “Game on, beautiful.”
She stopped breathing when he traced her bottom lip with his thumb.
A napkin holder bounced off Jordan’s shoulder and hit the table. “The fuck is your problem, Wylie?”
“I know you not swearing at my table,” Damon said.
Wylie’s indifferent glare slid to Zinnia. She raised her eyebrows, internally bracing for whatever he was going to throw at her too, but nothing happened.
