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Noticing my constant glaring, he turned toward me, the dimple in his right cheek on full display. The theatrics increased slightly as his eyes danced between me and the road. Finally, the song ended and the volume of the stereo decreased.
“You got a fucking eye problem, Mommas?”
He didn’t bite his tongue. That had been established throughout our time together. Adjusting to the pressure I was now under, I maneuvered in my seat. Upon realizing I had no response to the question he’d posed, he jacked the volume on the stereo up and continued his solo performance.
It wasn’t long before we were pulling into the driveway of a home that didn’t quite fit the description of those in the same neighborhood, not even of those next to it. The renovations were apparent. The home was now the size of two or three homes on the same street and resembled a result of gentrification after a Black neighborhood was discovered by white investors and developers.
The dark men that stood near the porch, all resembling the one I was sitting beside, dismantled that reality. The home was indeed owned by people with skin that was the most beautiful under the sun’s glow.
Without as much as an explanation, my knight in shining gold teeth was out of the truck before the wheels could come to a complete stop. Slowly, he crept up the driveway that was littered with luxury. One after the other, he slapped hands with every man standing around, finally shoving the slimmer one toward the grass.
Worry lines creased my forehead as I watched them both adjust their bottoms and lift their fists. In an attempt to mind my business and avoid second-hand embarrassment, I reclined the seat until the pain in my back subsided. Like a newborn, unaware that they were out of the womb, I curled into a ball. With my knees pressed against my breast and my arms wrapped around my legs, I rested my eyes and head.
A yawn ripped through my lip, widening my mouth and confirming the exhaustion I’d been evading over the last few hours. Hadn’t my comfort been snatched from underneath me, forcing me to feign for myself throughout the day, then I’d blame the exhaustion I felt on the nugget in my belly that I refused to acknowledge. But truthfully, I knew the pregnancy wasn’t to blame. I’d been gutted, mentally, physically, and emotionally.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh.” I yawned a second time.
* * *
Shuffling in the distance stirred me from my slumber. Warm, wetness slid down the back of my numb hand, down my wrist. Confusion toyed with my alertness. Pulling myself together felt impossible as the light from the ceiling shined down on my face, blinding me temporarily.
What is happening? Where am I?
Familiarity was foreign at the moment. Disoriented, I closed my eyes to begin collecting my thoughts. The loud, obnoxious roaring of my stomach quickly reminded me that I was promised food and had yet to receive any. As my vision began to clear with the reopening of my eyes, I noticed the silver foil on the seat next to me.
“Makai?” Slowly, I turned toward the back where the noise was coming from.
“What’s up with yo’ slobbin’ ass?”
“Are you always this… in-insufferable?”
Groaning, I rubbed the back of my hand on my dress. My cheeks flushed red from shame. I used my right hand to let the seat up, bringing myself back to life almost immediately. Darkness surrounded us completely, leaving me to wonder how long we’d be in the same spot.
“How long have we been here?”
“Long enough for you to get a nap in. You looked tired as shit and I didn’t want to fuck with you, so I hung out until these niggas were ready to cut out.”
“Did someone cook dinner?”
The contents under the foil smelled divine.
“Yeah. My pops. We have dinner at his crib every final Friday of the month.”
“I’m sorry. Did I make you miss dinner?” Regretfully, I grabbed the back of my neck and pulled forward.
Finally done fiddling through the darkness, his eyes found mine. Pausing, he gathered his words before responding. Thankful that he was easing whatever blow he was about to land I waited, patiently.
“You ain’t make me miss shit. I’m good. I’ll sit down with them next month.”
Unable to muster a response, I let the silence settle the moment. Thoughts ran wild in my head, stemming from the start of my day to the call I’d made to the man who rounded the truck and sat in the driver’s seat.
Makai.
It was suiting. Unique, just like his coal-colored skin and single dimpled cheek. Unique, just like his aura. Since the moment he entered my space, I’d been blanketed with comfort. Though a stranger, he felt safe.
“Here,” he said, handing me the plate he’d picked up from the seat before sitting.
Saliva pooled in my mouth as I accepted it.
