There’s a comforter and sheet set on one of the display beds that’s so pretty, I can’t stop touching it. It looks antique in shades of ivory, rose, and tea—like something a Victorian lady might have had.
“Do you like that one?” my aunt asks.
I shake my head. It’s so girlie I shouldn’t like it, but I do. I really do. I open my mouth to tell her that, but what comes out is, “Yeah.”
She smiles at me. “It’s beautiful. Let’s see if they have it in a queen.” We wander over to the bins on the wall that hold each style, and Krys quickly finds the one I like. “They have it! Want to get it?”
“No,” I whisper hoarsely, even though every inch of me is screaming yes inside.
“What’s wrong?” she asks with a frown. “Are you okay?”
“Please. Just … don’t.” Dread bubbles in my stomach, chilling my bones. If she buys that set for me, I know something terrible will happen. I’ll die without ever sleeping on it. I don’t deserve something that beautiful.
“Okay.” She doesn’t ask why, just links her arm through mine and starts walking. “Let’s go get some dinner. Jamal’s going to join us before I have to take you back.”
It’s easier to breathe when we leave the store.
“Maybe next weekend we can get pampered,” Krys suggests. “Have you ever had a facial?”
I shake my head. “Not a real one. At the motel, sometimes we’d do masks and paint one another’s toes.”
She smiles, but it looks shaky. “Do you miss the other girls?”
I shrug. “Not really. I miss Ivy. Do you know where she is?” Has she forgiven me for wussing out on her?
“No, but we can ask Detective Willis if you want.”
“Thanks.”
We meet my uncle Jamal at P.F. Chang’s. He’s tall—over six feet—with a buzz cut and stubble on his face. He’s good looking, and his face lights up when he sees Krys. I bet my mother had a shit hemorrhage when she found out her little sister married a Black guy. Mom has no problem dating a guy who’d fuck her own daughter, but she draws the line at anyone who’s not white.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” he tells me after giving Krys a kiss. He doesn’t try to touch me, but he does pull out my chair before sitting down in his own.
“Did you ladies have a good day?” he asks, opening the menu.
“We did, I think,” my aunt replies. “Why do you even bother to look? You always get the same thing.”
Jamal laughs. Under the table his knee brushes mine. I tense, waiting for a hand to follow.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. “You don’t have enough room.” He moves his chair around the table, closer to Krys.
“He takes up a lot of space.” Krys laughs. She trusts him—trusts that he won’t screw around or betray her. Trusts that he won’t touch the ho they’re going to move into their house, because she’s family.
Krys doesn’t know men like I do. She doesn’t know the nasty shit they’re capable of. They think shoving their dick inside you means they own you. I wish I didn’t know the things I do. I wish the thought of them didn’t cause me to break out into a sweat and make me think about raking my fork down my forearm just to let out how fucking powerless I am.
I run the tines of my fork along the sensitive underside of my arm. The metal is cool and sharp against my skin. I shiver—only a little—but it’s enough to catch Krys’s attention. She smiles.
“Are you cold, Lex?”
I set down the fork and straighten up in my chair. “No. I’m good.” I open the menu and start reading. Suddenly I’m starving.
A waiter comes to take our order. It’s a stupid amount of food for three people, but neither Krys nor Jamal seems to notice.
“I’ll be right back,” my aunt says as she stands. My heart skips a beat as she walks away. She’s only going to the bathroom, psycho.
I glance at Jamal, then at the bathroom door, then at Jamal.
“Is it because I’m Black, or because I’m a guy?” he asks casually.
I whip my head around to look at him. “What?”
“Do I make you nervous because I’m Black or because I’m a guy?”
“Bro, I don’t care what color you are.” We had the spectrum pretty much covered at the motel, and we were all the same there. Just goods and services.
He nods solemnly. “So, because I’m a guy. Okay. Listen, I don’t know all the right things to do or say to make you feel comfortable, and you have no reason to believe anything I say, but let me give it a try. I love your aunt, and your aunt loves you. We both want you to come live with us, even though the idea of being a parental figure freaks me out. Sometimes I might say or do the wrong thing, and I’m going to need you to tell me when that happens. So, did I do something to make you uncomfortable other than the knee thing?”
He picked up on that? I shake my head. “I’m sorry I freak you out.”
“It’s not you,” he says with a smile. “It’s the responsibility of you. What if I do something or say something that scars you for life?”
I blink at him. “You really think you can compete with what’s already happened?”
He starts to laugh but stops himself. I can’t help but smile a little, and he smiles too. “Well put.”
He seems like an okay guy, but I’ve been wrong before. Still, I’m willing to give him a chance because he and Krys are taking one on me. I’d have to be dense not to realize I’m not much of a catch in the daughter department. No one would pick someone like me unless they really meant it, or wanted to exploit me some more. I might not trust many people, but I’m pretty sure I can trust my aunt.
“Do you like horror movies?” Jamal asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
He looks mortified. His dark eyes widen behind his glasses. “The first night you stay with us, we’re watching something scary.”
“Oh, God,” Krys says as she rejoins us. “Maybe not the first night, Mal.”
He looks disappointed. “Sounds fun,” I hear myself say.
Jamal’s face lights up. “I know just where to start—Carrie. Little scary, not much gore, and very satisfying. Lots of girl power.”
I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it.
Krys rolls her eyes at him and smiles at me. They’re both so … normal. Sitting with them feels surreal. I don’t know how to act or what to say. Luckily, neither of them have any trouble talking. They include me in as much of the conversation as they can. It’s exhausting, all this talking. I’m glad when our food arrives so I can be quiet.
After we eat, someone calls Jamal’s name as we’re leaving the mall. We all turn. It’s a woman with a cane walking beside a guy who’s probably my age. He’s really tall with dark hair and dark eyes. He’s cute in a serious kind of way.
“Anna!” Jamal greets her with a kiss on the cheek. I look at the hand holding her cane—her knuckles are huge, the fingers twisted. I’ve never seen anything so deformed that wasn’t broken. Do they hurt? Does she have painkillers in her purse, and is there a way for me to get to them if she does?