“No, because that part right there would’ve got me too.”
That made me laugh.
“He said grape was his favorite too.”
Kendra dropped her fork. “Yeah, see? No. That’s intimacy. That’s some Black-ass domestic foreplay.”
I laughed so hard I had to put a hand over my mouth.
“You are so ridiculous.”
“And always right.”
Unfortunately.
I leaned back against the counter and looked off toward the living room.
“The bad thing is, now I can hear him in my head.”
Kendra smiled into her food. “Girl.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
“No, I mean his actual voice. The way it dropped. The laugh. The pauses.” I shook my head. “It’s one thing to want a man because he’s fine. It’s another thing when you start liking the sound of him just being him.”
My honesty fell somewhere between us and stayed there.
Kendra reached for another fry.
“Well,” she said, “that sounds like a real problem.”
I laughed.
Then, because she was still Kendra, she ruined the tenderness with perfect timing.
“And the man had Kut Klose on? He’s playing chess not checkers. That’s a grown Black man with memory.”
I bent over the counter laughing.
“That is such a ridiculous sentence.”
“And true.”
“It is a little true.”
“It is very true.” She took a bite of cake. “You know what this sounds like?”
“What?”
“A man who might actually know how to use his own dick and a conversation.”
I choked on my drink.
“Kendra.”
“What? You want me to lie? I’m just saying. The ones who call, laugh, know old music, and like grape Kool-Aid usually not useless.”
