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8
SUKIE
It’s been two weeks since I last saw Harlem. Not that he hasn’t been around, because he has. Last Monday, I came home from work to find the lawn had been mowed. I didn’t see Harlem, but I knew it was him because Mom told me. She also mentioned how she had fixed him lunch. With spring approaching, the grass and weeds have shot up like wildfire, but I was on crutches and waiting for my foot to heal, so I haven’t been able to do yard work.
Luckily, my foot has healed, and Juneau visited me a couple of days ago and took out the stitches. I’m not going to lie; when Mom confessed it had been Harlem who helped, a part of me was disappointed I wasn’t home to see him. He also sent a crew early Saturday morning to paint the house. I tried to turn them away, saying we didn’t hire any painters and that they must have the wrong place. One of the men told me they had the correct address and that the bill was already handled. I knew immediately who hired them. Though I had done what I could in the past to cover the vandalism, I was in no way a professional, and in the end, I was grateful for their services. By the end of the weekend, the men working on the house had it looking like new.
The last surprise I got showed up two days ago. It was Mystic. When I opened the door, I was rewarded with a smile, and he told me he was there to install my new security system.
“What’s going on?” I look suspiciously at Mystic.
He smiles. “I’m here to put in the security system.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. I didn’t order one.”
“You didn’t. Harlem did.” Mystic saunters past me, leaving me a gaping mouth. I watch in stunned silence as he dumps his tools onto the kitchen table and breezes by me again. “I’ll be back. I got the rest of the shit in the truck.”
“What’s going on?” Mom comes into the room. She looks past my shoulder at Mystic, who is making his way back toward us, carrying a large box. “Ma’am.” He tips his head at my mother. She smiles. “Oh…ah, hi.” Mom looks at me, confused.
I purse my lips and tell her, “He’s supposedly here to install a security system.” Then I look at Mystic. “A security system I did not ask for.”
Mystic shrugs and carries on with his task.
“Take it back,” I order, crossing my arms over my chest.
Mystic takes a knife from his pocket and slices the box open. “Sorry, darlin’, no can do.”
“Why not?” I huff.
“Harlem said you’d probably pitch a fit,” he chuckles, making Mom giggle too. I cut my eyes to see she’s biting her lip to hold back a smirk. I turn my attention back to Mystic. “Harlem also knows I can’t afford this.” I nod toward the box. “And we don’t need it.”
Mystic stops what he’s doing. “It’s on the club.” Then he levels me with a no-nonsense look. “And from what I hear, you do, in fact, need it.” Mystic’s tone and look have me thinking twice about arguing. “Fine. I’ll just text Harlem myself.”
Mystic quirks a brow and chuckles. “You do that, sweetheart.”
“I will.” I lift my chin, turn on my heel, walk to the living room, snatch up my phone, and text Harlem.
Me:Take it back and tell Mystic to leave.
Harlem:No.
I stare down at his one-word reply and feel my insides heat.
Me:Yes!
I watch the little bubbles on the screen, followed by his reply.
Harlem:No.
I grit my teeth.
Me:I don’t want it.
Harlem:Tough.
Me:I’m being serious.
When he doesn’t reply, I start typing again.
