[ COMPLETED ]
Eliana Oakley and Casen Walker couldn't be further on the other's spectrum.
Eliana is twenty-one years old and in her last year of college. An artist at heart, she uses that to her advantage to further her early fashion design career...
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As Eliana practically skips down the aisles of Walmart, grabbing ornaments and house decorations, I can't help the smile that spreads on my face.
She's visibly and audibly happier compared to all those weeks of me talking to her over the phone. Of course, I could see that she wasn't herself after Thanksgiving but I didn't want to bombard her when she seemed to be recovering from whatever it was.
But she's happy now and that's all I care about.
"What color we thinking?" She asks, a couple of feet in front of me as she looks at the shelves of different colored wreaths.
As I push the cart closer to her, my gaze travels to the arrangement, zeroing on the traditional green in the middle. Almost as if she could tell what I was about to say, she narrows her eyes at me.
"Please don't say green."
I laugh, "I was gonna say pink. I'm not that basic." She narrows her eyes as if she doesn't believe me, which she's right to, but grabs a blue wreath anyway.
"Damn, what you even need me for?" I gasp in fake offense.
"Moral support."
After going down a couple of aisles in search of Christmas gifts for her girls and my boys, we end up in the hair care section where her eyes roam the many shelves.
She's so fricking adorable, twirling the end of her headscarf as she inspects the products.
"What about this?" I garner her attention and bring it to the bottle of Shea Moisture leave-in conditioner with Jamaican black castor oil in my hand.
Her eyes widen as she looks me up and down, "What you know about black hair, white boy?"
I kiss my teeth and roll my eyes, "Don't worry 'bout it, sweetheart." She doesn't need to know that I spent the better part of this past month learning what I could about her type of hair.
It was enlightening, let me tell you.
"Wait!" She exclaims, eyes going down to my shoes, "We're matching! How didn't I clock that?"
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