Liyah runs on the treadmill, skin glistening with sweat. Her headphones are on, blasting high energy hiphop. Her legs burn threatening to give in beneath her. The treadmill reads four miles so far. She won't stop until she hits six.
Last night— the club, Aziz, Jay, then Jay spending the night— and this morning— the talk over breakfast— are stuck on loop in her head. She hadn't thought feelings could change so quickly.
It had taken her a year to be disgusted enough with Jay to walk away. And it only took him one night and three words to undo that.
I love you.
She throbs between her legs, almost feeling his hot breath to her ear as he repeats the words. She pushes harder on the treadmill. Why hadn't she mentioned it to him over breakfast? Was he expecting her to say it back? Did it mean he wanted to be... official?
The questions drown her mind. When her lungs start to burn and her vision begins to wane, Liyah jumps off the whirring treadmill, hands above her head, and tries to catch her breath.
Being official with Jay would've meant everything about six months ago, preferably before Regine entered the picture. Liyah can't imagine herself saying no if he wanted to make it real, go public with her, be exclusive.
But she wonders, why did it take for her to try to move on for him to finally make a decision?
She returns upstairs to her condo and showers off the night and the workout.
I love you.
It's like a song stuck in her head. The melody of his voice, the rhythm of his labored breath, the beat of his strokes as he sang.
She wonders how his conversation with Regine will go. If he really didn't have anything with the girl, it should go fine. No strings attached means no hard feelings, right?
Wrong. Liyah knows better than that. Hell, look at me, she thinks. So much for no hard feelings. As she gets dressed for the day, she just hopes he's telling the truth, that there was nothing there between he and her...
—
"What did I just do?" Jay is sitting at the desk in his bedroom, leaning back in the cushioned chair. He can still smell her on the clothes he's been wearing since the party. But he doesn't want to shower. It would be like washing away the euphoria, the truth.
I think I do love her.
Don't I?
He hasn't been able to move from the chair since he'd come home from breakfast with Liyah. He'd mostly been thinking about the future, where things would go from here.
Saying he loved her would change things. It should change things. No more late nights and early mornings. No more of her silent passivity.
They could have dates. Vacations. He imagines bringing her home for Thanksgiving. Yeah. Ma would love her, he thinks about it.
But there was Regine. He'd have no future with Liyah unless Regine was completely out of the picture. She'd made that clear.
He works up what to do in his mind, the different approaches he could take. He's got to talk to somebody about this.
Not any of his homies— no, they're still playing the field. He doesn't want that.
Somebody with sense, somebody who valued family. His uncle Quincy.
He calls him up, gives him a bare minimum rundown.
I got this shorty.
I've been feeling here for about a year.
I think I want to be serious.
How serious? I told her I love her.
Yeah, it's like that.
Do I? I think so. I've never said it before.
But there's this other girl.
Nah, it's not like that. It was one time, way back.
I don't think my shorty forgives me.
And the other chick won't leave her alone, like some crazed side chick.
What do I do?
With the phone to his ear, he listens for a response. His uncle is just chuckling, and like he used to always tell Jay whenever he had any female issues, he says,
"Sounds like you got yourself a situation here, huh?"
Jay chuckles. Then his uncle goes on.
"Didn't I tell you not to be out here distributing what Allah gave you?"
Oh, man, here we go, Jay thinks. "Unc, that's not really helping."
Uncle Que smacks his lips. "Now I'm just telling you like it is. You wouldn't be in this situation if you wasn't getting entangled in the first place. This is the fruit of the lust of youth, brother. I've taught you better than this, man. You wrapping up at least, right?"
Jay rubs his beard and thinks about lying. Then reconsiders. "Yeah."
It sounds unsure.
"Yeah?" His uncle repeats him.
"Yeah, mostly," he shrugs, spinning back and forth in the chair. He imagines his uncle at the mosque where he works, probably getting the food pantry organized for the day, having stepped aside to answer his call.
Jay keeps going past his uncle's deep disappointed sigh. "With that other thing I did. With this one, I slipped up twice. But it's been a year. Only twice in one year, that counts for something doesn't it?"
His uncle laughs. "Don't count for shit, Jay. You need to wrap one hundred percent of the time. Otherwise you'll have greater problems than two women going at it. When was the last time?"
Jay tells the truth. "Last night."
"Last night? Aw, man!" Uncle Que grills him. Jay can imagine him shaking his head. "I bet you ain't even showered yet. Here's what you need to do: wash your ass, man. You're in a state of impurity. Make ablution so you can pray, get some real clarity. Who's to say you're even supposed to be with this young lady?
"Then you need to get serious with yourself before you try to get serious with someone else. Do you think you're ready for marriage?"
Jay sits up, his stomach fluttering at the idea. The image of Liyah in a white dress flashes through his mind for a split second. She looks so beautiful, all his. Then he laughs it off.
"Woah, I didn't say all that."
"Well what do you think serious means? That's the problem with your generation. You're all out of order. You're either about the commitment or you're not."
"Aight, aight. I hear you."
"As far as that other thing, well, only God can help you. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
Jay balls his fist. "Scorned? It was one time! I didn't even know her like that."
"If that was her truth, she wouldn't be giving you these kinds of problems, would she?" Uncle Que lays it out for him. Then it makes sense.
Sometimes women have their own truth.
Not just their own perspective or point of view.
But a reality that they've decided is universal, objective, even if it's based solely on what they see and feel.
That's how real their feelings get.
He starts wondering what Liyah's truth is. He's got to find out.
"So that's all you got?" Jay finally exhales. He'd been hoping for more.
"How about you sit the young lady down and tell it like it is. If it meant nothing, say that. If you want to be just friends, say that, too. If you regret it, keep it real."
Jay shakes his head. Truth don't work for these hoes. Not against emotions and strong delusion. He's showed Liyah texts, surrendered his phone, and made it plain: she's the only one. And yet she still doubts. What good is the truth?
He questions why he'd expected anything different from this kufi-wearing, no-pork-eating ass man. This isn't helping.
"Thanks," he sneers. "I'll tell her she meant nothing to me. That'll solve everything."
His uncle chuckles again. "Hey, the truth might set her free. Might kill her, but, you know... Better to die with the truth than live with a lie. I bet you'll think twice now before you lay down with anything."
He agrees to that, without a doubt. When the call ends he smells himself one last time. Sweet roses. His uncle is right about one thing: he's still wearing the clothes from the club, and he needs a shower.
Then he'll work on the Regine thing.