Page 43 of Delirium 2

I shrugged my shoulder, stood at the shelf of pasta noodles and grabbed a box. “I don’t know. It’s the cheese. It’s all… thick… stringy and… I don’t know. It be bland too.”

“Thick? Stringy? Bland? You just ain’t had the right macaroni and cheese, baby,” he calmly said as if he hadn’t called me baby for the… fifth time today.

I kept track.

The first and second times he said it we were over the phone. Every time he said it, I did this little squint I couldn’t control. This time I squinted, glanced at him, and then back at the shelf of pasta, as if I hadn’t already grabbed a box. I didn’t like what this crush on Exodus did to me. On one hand, I was a spitfire, quick with my comebacks, boldly flirtatious with my eyes… but then on the other hand, I was like this… antsy, shy, doing shit I didn’t need to do.

“Hmm,” I said, finally dropping the elbow noodles into the cart.

“Hmm,” He mocked. “You haven’t though. I’m going to get you together.”

With twisted lips, I looked at him and sucked my teeth. “You can’t cook.”

He drew back, playfully offended. “Who can’t cook? Ma, tell this girl I can cook.”

We both looked to First Lady. She was in the middle of us. She looked up at Exodus, at me, and then straight ahead, smile on her face, quietly humming a tune I couldn’t make out. She was in good spirits. But then again, she always was. However, today, walking around the store… something about her spirit was lighter. Happier. Fuller. At ease. The smile never left her face, as she looked around, likely taking in things she could remember. We had to do this more often.

“I know you saw the twinkle in her eye. The way her mouth moved a little,” Exodus kidded. “That was a yes.”

I giggled. “Yeah okay.”

“You’ll see,” he continued.

I shrugged my right shoulder. “I guess we will see.” Glancing at him, I said, “I thought you were lactose intolerant.”

He laughed. “I am. When it comes to mac, I don’t be givin’ a fuck tho’.”

We spent a good hour in the store. By the time I was done shopping, Exodus was pushing a second cart. One filled with household items, and clothes for me. Basic shit like t-shirts, socks, pajamas. For some reason he got a kick out of me getting pajamas. Initially, I got offended. Thought he was making fun of my Mickey Mouse and Winnie the Pooh sets, but he wasn’t. When he noticed my mood switch he didn’t ask what was wrong. Didn’t accuse me of being soft or anyting like that. He just said he thought it was cool that I wore pajamas. What was cool about me wearing pajamas? I was sure his bitch did. But… I didn’t mention it. Just blushed like a little girl and placed my hair behind my ear.

When we made it back to the house, he helped me put everything away. And when we were finished, I expected him to leave. Especially since he’d gotten a ton of calls when we were out. But he didn’t. Exodus helped me get First Lady ready for bed. While he bathed her, I set her hair rollers out on the vanity, prepared some nighttime tea, and waited. After about fifteen minutes, First Lady was clothed in a blush pink pajama set, joining me in the bedroom.

I stood up from the vanity and motioned for her to have a seat. When she did, she delicately placed her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead at the mirror. A soft smile graced her lips. Just for a second. I glanced at Exodus, wondering if he’d caught it but he was watching me. My eyebrows furrowed a bit and I looked away.

“What?” I asked, reaching over for a roller.

In the mirror, I watched as he sat in the big chair in the corner of the room, stretched out, thick thighs begging me to sit on them. “What, what?”

“You were looking at me.”

“I can’t look at you?”

“Not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“Like…” I glanced over at him again. My heart fluttered. Skipped a beat. Could have been palpations, but something in me said it was him. Exodus’s stare was pensive. Piercing. Magnetizing. But… at the same time… soft. I didn’t feel intimidated. I felt… desired. No, not desired. The look, it wasn’t sexy. Didn’t have anything behind it but softness. I felt… cared for. Like he gave a damn about me.

And that made me a little uncomfortable.

I wasn’t used to people looking at me like that. Lovingly. Tenderly. Completely. In the Woods, the only looks I got were looks of hate from bitches, or ‘I wanna fuck you’ looks from the niggas.

“Like that,” I said before swallowing.

“I’m just lookin,” he said.

I didn’t say anything in return. Reached over for my phone and picked it up. Looking at him, I asked him what First Lady’s favorite song was.

Without hesitation he said, “Why We Sing. Kirk Franklin.”