Page 22 of Lease to Love

“You know what your problem is?” he asked through a mouthful of something I was probably going to have to replace.

“Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

“You talk at people like they owe you their attention for showing up.”

He said it without malice, the way he said most true things.

“Brooklyn ain’t raise you to be neighborly, Rome.”

“Brooklyn raised me fine.”

"Brooklyn raised you efficient and you're treating that like the same thing as being personable. That's just facts."

I said nothing because, unfortunately, he was right.

Our six-year age difference meant Erik didn’t spend as many of his formative years in Fort Greene as I did before Ma and Pops had to move.

And it showed in our people skills.

“The block association gala is in three weeks.”

“I know when the gala is, Erik.”

"Three weeks to figure out how to be a person they want to know." He pulled something out of the fridge—the sound was specific enough that I was already writing off the white cheddar cubes.

"You want my actual advice?"

"No."

"Stop trying to sell them the vision.” He kept going like I hadn’t said anything. “People don't trust visions from rich strangers. Show up. Be less New York about it. Let them see you're not going anywhere."

Again, I didn't argue because he wasn't wrong, which was starting to piss me off.

So I changed the subject.

"You spoke with Proctor?"

The pause this time was shorter but louder.

“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tenant. Sweet as pie, that woman.”

“Erik.”

“Offered me water. Asked about my day. The whole thing.” Another pause. “She’s clearly not the problem in whatever y’all’s beef is.”

“I’m aware that I’m perceived as the problem.”

“Perceived?” I could hear the grin in his voice. “She smiled at a pigeon when she walked me out, Rome. A pigeon. I saw her. Gave it a little nod.”

He paused for effect.

“That’s the woman you’ve got out here ready to smack the black off your ass.”

“She’s behind on her rent.”

“That’s a special kind of talent.” He ignored me, sounding genuinely impressed. “Like, that’s a gift. Most people would’ve just, y’know, made themselves likable. Let the niceness happen. But not you, my nigga. You walked in and thought, You know what this woman who smiles at pigeons needs?”

He deepened his voice dramatically.