Page 128 of When Love Takes Root

I turned my wrist so she could see the script. “This one says rooted.”

“Rooted.”

“I got it after I came home.”

“From prison?”

“Yes.”

She traced the word once. “Why rooted?”

“Because I spent three years feeling like my life had been pulled up by the roots. When I came home, Mama told me pulled-up things can be replanted if the root is still alive.”

Celeste was quiet.

Then she whispered, “I’m glad your root was still alive.”

I looked down.

Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep yet. I brushed my fingers gently along her arm.

She sighed.

“You good?”

She nodded against me. “Mm-hmm.”

“You tell me if you need me to stop.”

“I will.” A few minutes passed. Then she said, “Josiah?”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t dated because I didn’t want to compare anybody to a dead man.”

I stilled but kept my hand gentle.

She continued with her eyes closed. “That sounds harsh, but it’s true. Jamal can’t disappoint me now. He can’t leave socks on the floor. He can’t forget a bill. He can’t get old and get on my nerves. Memory makes people unfairly perfect sometimes, even when you know better.”

“I understand.”

“And I didn’t want to sit across from some man, searching for flaws because I was scared if he had none, I’d like him.”

The movie light flickered across the wall.

I asked, “And now?”

Her fingers curled softly into my shirt. “Now I’m sitting on your couch trying not to like you too much.”

My heart kicked against my ribs. “How’s that going?”

“Terribly.”

I smiled toward the TV. “Good.”

She laughed softly. “What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”