Page 46 of Happy Is On Hiatus
“Listen, I’m not lying or even saying this as a come-on. It’s just the blunt truth. I’ve been thinking about you all weekend.” He shrugged. “Didn’t expect to see you here today, but the moment I did, I knew I wanted to ask you out. It’s that simple.”
She sighed. “It’s that complicated.”
“Come on, Sharae. We’re both adults. Don’t toss that unethical bit at me again. We can do whatever the hell we want. If you want to go out with me, cool, let’s do it. If not ...” He let that hang in the air.
She felt like a goofball. He was right. They could go out on a date, and nobody would care. Not that she worried about what others thought anyway. So what was it? Was she really gonna go into why she dated only when she felt like it, and for the shortest amount of time possible? And if not, could she really pull off the lie of saying she didn’t want to go out with him? Because she did, or rather she wanted to have sex with him. Of that, she was certain.
“I can’t do this. I’ve got a lot going on right now.”
“Fair,” he said and reached inside his suit jacket to pull out another one of his business cards. This time, he also slipped a hand into the side pocket of his briefcase and retrieved a pen. He held the case against his arm now and used it to bear down on as he wrote something on the back of the card. “Here’s all my personal contact info,” he told her and extended the card in her direction. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
She took the card, looked down at his personal email, cell number—which was the same as the cell number on the front of the card—and his home address. Did he really think she would simply show up at his house one day?
“And you want me to believe you’re just gonna be sitting around waiting for me to respond?” Desmond was a great-looking guy who she knew instinctively would have no problem getting a date.
He chuckled. “Nah. I didn’t say I’d be sittin’ around waiting. Just that you can let me know when you’re ready.”
Well, that sent a shot of something weird straight through her chest. She wasnotjealous of who he might spend time with while he waited for her to answer him. This guy had been causing all types of confusion in her life since that first moment he sat down beside her.
She smirked. “Yeah. I’ll let you know.” It wasn’t running if she really did have to work, so Sharae turned to walk away from him.
“Sharae.”
She stopped at the sound of her name, looking back over her shoulder.
“Don’t take too long,” he said and then winked.
He walked away before she could respond, but not before her heart had done a ridiculous pitter-patter in her chest.
This Monday wasn’t getting off to such a great start.
Her shift ended at six Monday evening, and Sharae pulled into the driveway along the side of Aunt Vi’s house at six forty-five. She had no idea why she’d come here straight from work. Just felt like this was the place she needed to be.
The brick-front single-family dwelling had been her home from the time she was thirteen until she’d graduated from the police academy and leased her first apartment. Aunt Rose’s house was around the corner.And Aunt Ceil had rented a house down the block from Aunt Vi’s two months after she’d left her husband.
Using her key, Sharae let herself in and stepped through the front door. A blast of cool air-conditioning hit her the moment she was inside. Then, the scent of vanilla, Aunt Vi’s favorite, wafted past. Across the room was the wide stone-front fireplace that spoke intrinsically of the seventies, and on the walls on either side of that were thick brown shelves with fat beige-colored candles on each one. Those candles and the plug-ins Aunt Vi had inserted in almost all the electrical sockets throughout the house kept the place smelling sweet and familiar.
For a few minutes, Sharae just stood there in the living room, staring around at a place that meant the world to her.
The sofa, love seat, and recliner were relatively new—maybe about four years old—since Aunt Vi loved to redecorate. That was one of many traits she’d passed down to Rita because that woman changed the look of her house as frequently as Sharae tended to change cars. With a slight shrug, she figured everybody had their vices. Hers just didn’t tend to revolve around the domestic things like Rita’s did, or the flashy material things like Jemel. Sharae liked nice cars, and since Rita had built a car dealership, she’d always had access to the most up-to-date models for a very reasonable price. Sure, she liked her designer purses and shoes too, but her apartment was just a place where she slept, so not too much effort had gone into her bland gray-and-white decor.
She walked through the living room, past the strips of mirror pieces on the opposite wall—no matter how much Aunt Vi redecorated, her tastes didn’t stray far from that retro look. She moved through the dining room and kitchen, opened the back door, and stepped out onto the porch. Looking for her aunt there was an instinct, one that paid off when she saw not just Aunt Vi, but Aunt Ceil and Aunt Rose too.
“Good evening,” she said once she was outside again. Going to each woman, she leaned over to give them a brief hug and kiss on their cheek.
“Well, what a nice surprise,” Aunt Vi said, holding on to Sharae a little longer and a lot tighter than the other aunts had.
“Mm-hmm, what brings you into the city during the week?” Aunt Rose asked, always with a hint of worry.
“You hungry?” Aunt Ceil asked as Sharae adjusted her crossbody bag so she wouldn’t sit on it when lowering herself to the bench across from the Aunts and their color-coordinated chairs.
It had been so funny and not at all as abnormal as it should’ve been when they’d come over to Aunt Vi’s for a Sunday dinner two summers ago and saw the sisters’ new chairs. Aunt Vi’s was a noble navy-blue color, while Aunt Rose had a brilliant red, and Aunt Ceil had a subtle yellow. The colors couldn’t have represented the sisters’ personalities more even if they were the only things on the porch that didn’t match the muted brown-and-orange rug, bench, and planters.
“I’ve got leftover oxtails, potatoes, and gravy in there on the stove,” Aunt Vi chimed in.
“And there’s macaroni salad in the fridge. Chocolate cupcakes on the dining room table,” Aunt Rose added.
“Nah,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m good.” Well, at least she wasn’t hungry, but she wasn’t sure she was totally good either. “I’ve been thinking about my mom.”
