Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(34)
Unknown: Real mature.
Me: Such a grumpy old man!
Text bubbles appear and disappear. The J train keeps moving, depositing a few passengers at their stops while I wait, smile on my face, breath stalled, for Kenan’s reply.
Unknown: I am kind of grumpy with most people, but not with you.
Now it’s my turn to let the digital bubbles float, to let my heart float, as I start and stop a few messages before hitting send.
Me: Why aren’t you grumpy with me?
Unknown: For a million reasons I haven’t figured out yet.
My heart performs a triplet in my chest, turning over once, twice, and again, the beat irregular as I read and re-read what he wrote.
Me: Do you want to figure it out?
Unknown: I think yeah, very much . . .TBH. ;-)
My grin grows so wide, I’m probably showing all my teeth. If this were a game, I’d be showing all my cards, but it’s not a game. It’s butterflies and emoticons and heart eyes. It’s risk and emotion and intimacy and all the things a girl like me dreads. I’ve sworn off Prince Charmings, and the unresolved issues of my past keep intruding on the fairy-tale. It’s not a fairy-tale.
IRL.
Me: SUBJECT: Saturday. We’ll see.
10
Lotus
“I’m so proud of you, Lo.”
Iris’s encouragement has me clutching the phone tight like it’s my lifeline. Like she’s my lifeline, which she has been to me and I have been to her since we were kids.
“I haven’t done anything yet.” My short laugh is as shaky as my insides.
“You’re the strongest chick I know,” Iris says. “And taking this step to get help doesn’t make you weaker. It makes you stronger.”
Would Iris still think I was strong if she knew I’d been standing in front of this Presbyterian church in Brooklyn for the last forty-five minutes? That the Thursday night meeting ends soon, and I haven’t worked up the nerve to go inside?
“Thanks,” I reply faintly. I glance up the flight of concrete steps leading to the church entrance.
“Call me later to tell me how it went,” Iris says. “I have a doctor’s appointment, but I’ll be available other than that.”
I welcome discussing something besides my crazy. I’ve been genuinely concerned about Iris’s pregnancy.
“Everything okay, Bo?” I ask, keeping my voice deliberately even and unconcerned.
“Yeah, completely. The doctor says my pregnancy is boringly normal. This is a routine visit.”
“September will be here before you know it.”
“And I can’t wait. August is obsessed with the baby.”
“Of course he is.” August is one of the good ones. One of the few men I would trust with my cousin and her daughter Sarai.
“He told me Kenan asked for your number.” Iris lets the comment hang over the airwaves.
“Hmmmm,” I reply, finding a small smile despite the anxiety whirring in my belly. “So that’s how he got it.”
“Well did he call?” Iris demands, excitement and hope all up in her voice.
“You and August are such matchmakers,” I say, avoiding her question. One question will lead to another, and eventually she’ll realize I’ve seen Kenan a few times and we’ve been . . . conversant. Hell, we’ve been kiss-versant.
“Did. He. Call?” Iris persists.
“Text,” I reply, giving her just the tip of what she wants. “He invited me to the Rucker on Saturday.”
“Rucker Park is like the mecca of playground basketball.” I’m not impressed by the awe in Iris’s voice. Unlike me, she loves the game.
“Uh-huh. Whatever. We’ll see. I haven’t decided to go yet.”
There’s silence on the other end for a few seconds, followed by Iris’s big gasp. “Oh, my gosh! He’s the guy!”
“What?” I’m silently begging her not to put things together.
“The guy you told me about before! The one you said you liked. Kenan’s in New York for the summer. You and he—”
“Ooooh, girl, you breaking up,” I reply hastily. “Gotta go.”
“Lo, I will need the details.”
“Bye, Bo. Kiss Sarai for me,” I say and disconnect.
Whatever is happening between Kenan and me is best left alone, and not poked at or simpered over by well-meaning friends. It’s our business. Not Iris’s. Not Billie’s or Yari’s. Not JP’s. That conviction goes beyond the concerns Kenan expressed to me today. It’s me just wanting whatever happens with us to be . . . different from the conquests I’ve bragged about in the past. I’m not ready to be more than friends with Kenan at this stage, but it’s already starting to feel special. None of the other guys felt special to me. Maybe because I’ve never let them.
Hearing Kenan talk about therapy yesterday, what it’s meant to him and to his family—how he endures the sessions for his daughter and how much he loves her—nudged me over the edge to do this. I’ve never had the kind of protection and commitment I heard from him for her. I had the opposite. A “parts unknown” father and a mother who never put me first the way Kenan does Simone.