“He did.”
“But.”
I exhaled through my nose. “But then we went out last night.”
Mena rinsed the shampoo away, her voice softer under the running water. “Okay.”
“We ran into Bryce.”
“The one from the beginning?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
I stared up at the ceiling and let the whole ugly thing come out the way it had actually been sitting in me.
“He didn’t claim me.”
Mena’s hands stilled for exactly one beat.
I kept going while my nerve to be vulnerable with these women was there.
“And maybe that sounds ridiculous,” I said, my mouth already tight with how foolish I heard myself sounding and howtrue it still was, “because we never sat down and said what the fuck we were doing.” I looked toward her as much as I could from the bowl. “But shit, I’m on this nigga’s dick twenty-five out of twenty-eight days a month.”
The shop exploded.
Rochelle lifted the edge of the dryer hood like she needed to hear better. “OH.”
Ms. Mary laughed so hard she had to take her glasses off.
Crystal slapped her own thigh and said, “Well all right then.”
Even Mena had to laugh before she got herself back together.
“No,” she said, reaching for the conditioner. “See, context matters.”
I smiled despite myself, then went right back to being irritated.
“He wasn’t rude,” I said as she worked the conditioner through my hair. “He was just weird. Bryce said something about it being nice to see us off the timeline, and Micah just said we came out for a drink.”
Rochelle made a face. “Mmmmm.”
I nodded from the bowl. “Exactly.”
“And that was it?” Mena asked.
“That was it.”
Ms. Mary looked up over her glasses. “Oh, baby.”
That little sound older Black women made when the situation had already told on itself enough.
“And the worst part is, I can’t even say he was wrong in what he said,” I said. “We hadn’t really said what we are. Not in words.”
“That matters,” Mena said.
“I know.” I laughed softly, without humor. “That’s what’s getting on my nerves. Because in real life, we’re doing everything.”
