"I said what I said," he goes as he disappears down the hall toward the front door. You watch his back as he goes, so wide and broad and fine and you have to remind yourself that your glossy nude lipstick tastes gross so you shouldn't bite your lip.
If you could physically run, you'd be running after him, would have ran and jumped into his arms with your legs wrapped around him when he first got out of that car. Instead, you have to calm yourself down, ignoring the sly digs from your cousins as you fix a couple plates.
Rashida is teasing you as you scoop out some of Auntie Essie's mac-and-cheese, and you really want to tell her that she's soft-banned from the kitchen. Everyone made a collective pact that her ass isn't allowed to spice, boil, fry, bake or taste-test any food item at the cookouts. Just like your father when he isn't on the grill, she's liable to have the entire function hospitalized and you don't think she realizes it yet.
Her food always ends up pushed to the back of the fridge until it's time to get rid of the four-day old leftovers.
Grabbing the foil, you wrap the two plates you've made (with decent portions because you fully intend to come back and eat more), before waddling out the kitchen.
Rashida comes past you, scoffing with, "Girl, you ain't even big enough to be walking like that."
"My HIPS," you repeat for the millionth time today. "She got my alignment all fucked up."
And it's getting worse, too, that sharp ache shooting up your back again that lets you know it's time to lay down. You've passed that threshold of trying to walk it off and definitely passed the sit down time frame, so there's only one option left and one you can't take.
Exhausted, you run into N'Jadaka in the driveway, leaning against the back of the black old-school Chevelle. He's talking to one of his friends whose name you forgot completely, but you recognize him as the one who N'Jadaka called a 'hoe.'
He takes the plate from you, and to be nice you offer the other to his friend. There's tons of food inside and you can eat later. Right now you just want to take a quick breather. And despite the fact that N'Jadaka said he wanted it to-go, he sure is digging in with the plastic fork you gave him like he hasn't eaten in months.
Although you suppose he hasn't, really.
You just watch him eat, wondering when he's going to pause to breathe or maybe offer you a bite. He doesn't.
"I thought we were going for a ride," you say, leaning against him. "My back huuuurts. Let's just sit here and talk shit."
Honestly, you have an attitude that he's paying more attention to the food than to you and you remedy this by pushing him as hard as you can. He barely moves, only shifting half an inch or so before peering down at you through his sunglasses.
He calls you spoiled before hip-checking you so you stumble sideways a couple steps.
"You're an asshole!" you laugh, regaining your footing. "Push me one more time-"
"You pushed me first," he responds, wiping his mouth off with a napkin. "That was fire, you made that?"
"No," you go, watching him go dump the plate in one of the makeshift trashcans. "I made the salad and the healthy-ish pasta, stuff you don't like to eat."
He corrects your smart comment before telling his boy to move so he can get to your Jeep. You hand him the water you've been drinking out of and he damn near drains the entire thing before nodding at you in thanks. "Damn, you like my Bonnie, baby. Holdin' shit down."
You strike a pose to be funny since HE wants to be, flipping your hair over your shoulder , before getting ready to go grab your keys. No matter how bad your body is starting to hurt, you'll be damned if you go home just yet because he looks too damn good to be hidden from the sun today.
daddy's home
Zacznij od początku
