Page 174 of New Growth
He entered slowly, holding a mug of tea. “Thought you might want this.”
“It’s probably expired, but thanks.” I took one and cradled it between my palms.
He sat beside me on the bed, close but not too close. “Tea doesn’t expire, E.”
“Lord, Daddy, someone else is trying to kill me.”
El smiled, then nudged me. “How you holding up?”
“I’m trying.” I glanced around the room again. “It’s just weird being back here.”
“I know.”
“I’m in my dead father’s house because my sister’s marrying my ex. Tyler Perry would love this bullshit.”
El raised a brow. “You sure you’re okay being here for this?”
“Honestly?” I stared into my tea. “I’m tired of this hanging over my head. It’s out of my hands. This is the life she chose, even if he’s a horrible man. He always knew how to spin a good story. Guess she bought it.”
He was quiet for a moment, watching me as I choked down that expired tea. Finally he spoke,
“Let’s go outside, I wanna see the tree up close.”
The late afternoon sun dipped low behind the trees, casting long shadows across the field. Ditching my shoes on the steps, I walked ahead. The ground was warm beneath my feet as we crossed the yard I hadn’t stepped foot in since the funeral.
El followed behind me, just a step slower. He rubbed his shoulder thoughtfully, and I knew his body was moving slower than his mind wanted it to. I could tell by the way his breaths came a little heavier, his hand occasionally brushing over the side where his pod was placed beneath his shirt.
Still, he followed me—no hesitation.
“If you need a break, El—”
“No,” he cut me off sharply but covered it with a faint smile. “Let’s keep going, I wanna see it.”
His stubbornness scared me sometimes, but I’ve learnt to work with it. The quicker I showed him the tree, the quicker he’d let me usher him inside.
“This is the tree,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at him. El looked up at it.
“It’s huge,” he said as he took it in closely.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “It grew faster than I did.”
I didn’t wait for permission, I just gripped a low-hanging branch and hoisted myself up like I used to.
“Careful,” El called up. “You ain’t a kid anymore.”
“Rude,” I muttered.
“I prefer the term ‘realistic',” he said, standing at the base of the tree, hands on his hips like he was assessing whether to join me. He didn’t.
I found a good spot and reached for a few oranges, tugging them free with satisfying pops. I tossed them down one by one, aiming for the patch of grass near his feet.
He caught one. Missed the second. And let the third bounce off his thigh with a grunt.
“Reflexes, old man.”
“This is a hate crime,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile there.
When I dropped back down and dusted my hands off on my shorts, the air between us shifted. The smile he had moments ago faded, replaced with doubt. He hadn’t said anything, but I could feel him thinking.
