by Nicole Falls
“Not exactly a shower cap, but give me a second,” I said, jogging over to the supply room to grab the boot coverings.
When I presented Celena with the package of boot covers, she laughed and asked where the nearest bathroom was so she could try to make ‘em work. She emerged from the bathroom and I immediately broke down. She looked crazy as hell with about four of those boot covers cobbled together on her head, jutting forward at odd angles, but covering the entirety of her hair.
“You good?”
“Leggo.”
Celena got situated on the creeper and I grabbed an oil filter, the drain pan and wrench from our stockpile of supplies.
“Aight, so first we’re gonna drain the oil. You’re gonna get on the creeper and look for an object that looks very similar to the one I’m holding in my hand,” I said, holding up the filter, “It’s an oil filter. Let me know when you see it.”
“Wait…you’re not gonna be under here with me?”
“Nah, head mechanic that’s all you. Sous mechanics take a step back and only speak when spoken to,” I replied, laughing, “Nah, for real…space is limited so I’ma just talk you through it from up here. You got this. I’m right here every step of the way. And if at any point you’re over it, just let me know and we can move on, okay?”
Celena nodded tightly and repositioned herself on the creeper. Sliding under the car she called out, “Okay, I think I found the filter. Do I need a tool to unhook it?”
“You should be able to do it with your hand, but you’re getting ahead of yourself a little bit. We gotta drain the engine of oil before you remove it.”
I crouched down and handed her the oil pan and three-quarter inch socket wrench.
“Put this pan directly beneath where the bolt is, so the oil can leak into here instead of all over you or the floor when it comes out. Now here’s where you gotta listen to me very carefully. The trick is righty tighty, lefty loosey. So you’re gonna want to start by turning the wrench to the left to loosen it, but be careful about how quickly you turn it.”
“I got this, Sous Mechanic!” she said before cranking the wrench.
“Slow down killa, it doesn’t take much before…”
“Shit!” Celena exclaimed, sliding from underneath the car quickly, oil dripping from the tip of her nose. She looked utterly disgusted and it took everything in me not to break down into hysterical laughter. I grabbed a shop rag and dabbed the oil off of her face.
“You still got it?”
“It didn’t get in my hair did it? I don’t want to have to wash this mess tonight…”
“Nah, your boot shield fortress is still in tact.”
“Oh thank God,” she said, “now what?”
“Now we wait. It’s gonna take a few minutes for all of the oil to drain from the engine.”
We sat there for a few minutes in silence before Celena asked how I got into cars.
“I guess it was a family thing, really. I didn’t grow up with my dad, but my grandpa was present a lot when I was younger. Cars were his thing and as I grew older they became our thing. We would spend hours out in the garage on a Saturday, just tinkering around.”
“That’s awesome that you guys were able to bond like that. He must be pretty proud that you own this place now, huh?”
“He…” I paused briefly, clearing my throat, which was suddenly choked up with emotion. I scratched the back of my head and continued, “He passed before I moved back and bought this place. He and old man Thompson were running buddies though, so that’s how I was able to buy this place from up under him.”
“It looks like doing well for yourself, Karim. So he’s looking down on you, pleased,” Celena said, placing a hand on my jaw.
“Thank you,” I replied looking her directly in the eye. The heaviness of the moment made me a little uncomfortable, so I quickly shook it off.
“Whew! All right. Enough of Feelings Hour with Karim, let’s finish this up. You ready to get back down there?” I asked, peering under the car where the stream of oil coming from the engine had slowed to a drip.
“Let’s do this,” Celena said, getting back onto the creeper.
“Aight, now we secure the oil plug again and change out the filter.”
She secured the oil plug and set about removing the old oil filter. This time she managed to get through the process without spilling a drop.
“Keep the old oil filter nearby,” I said while passing her the new oil filter, “You’re gonna need to put a little of the old oil in this new one to help lubricate the filter before installing.”
Once she’d satisfactorily secured the new oil filter, Celena emerged from beneath the car, hopped up from the creeper looking like she was on top of the world.
“Now what?”
“Now comes to easy part. We fill her up with new oil.”
Forming a two-man assembly line, we passed full and empty containers of oil back and forth until the engine was full again. Celena then replaced the oil cap and lowered the hood.
“That’s it?” she asked, beaming, “I did it? All by myself?”
“That’s pretty much it,” I replied back, unable to hold back a grin at how pleased she looked with herself for completing what I looked at as a simple task. I had accomplished exactly what I set out to do, provide a bit of distraction while simultaneously making her feel in control of the whole situation. And it was worth it to see the look on her face now. She looked positively radiant.
“We’ve gotta do two last things though,” I said, talking her through the final steps of checking the oil levels and letting the car run for a bit to ensure there were no leaks. After we finished that up, Celena hinted at all of the manual labor making her work up an appetite. Instead of the fancy Italian restaurant I’d gotten reservations at for our real date, we wound up at a diner not far from the garage. Over a dinner of burgers, fries, and a milkshake for her, we talked for hours about everything and nothing.
As we sat talking, Celena’s phone began ringing, playing Beyoncé’s “Baby Boy”.
“Sorry Karim, I gotta get this.”
I quickly deduced it was her nephew from her side of the conversation. It sounded like whatever babysitter Celena had lined up for him informed him that he was staying the night and he was not pleased. I listened while she calmed him down and promised to come and pick him up as soon as possible. As she wrapped up her phone call, I paid the bill at the diner’s front counter. By the time I was back at our table, Celena was opening her bag to place a few bills for the tip onto the table. I quickly blocked that action by throwing the bills I’d received as change back from paying the bill on the table.
“Everything all right?”
“That was PJ. He normally loves hanging out with Dev, but tonight was adamant about coming back to my place now.”
“Is her house on the way? If it’s not overstepping, we can just scoop him on our way. Make one less trip for you?”
“I don’t wanna put you out.”
“It’s not putting me out if I offer. Come on.”
Celena gave me directions for the short drive to her friend Devorah’s house and I waited in the truck while she grabbed the kid. It didn’t take long for them to emerge, Celena gesturing toward my idling truck when the kid looked around confused when he didn’t see her car. As they climbed into the car, PJ asked why she was riding up front with the Uber driver. I had to stifle a bit of laughter at that comment.
“This isn’t an Uber baby, Mr. Karim is my friend. I was having dinner with him when you called. Stop being rude and say hello.”
I turned in my seat, extending a hand for a high five. “Sup, lil man.”
He just looked at my hand and mumbled under his breath.
“Patrick Michael Payne! Stop being a brat and speak properly.”
“Hi, Mr. Karim,” he said begrudgingly.
“Tough crowd,” I said, turning back around to Celena.
“I’m so sorry,” Celena said.
I gr
abbed her hand, linked our fingers and pressed a quick kiss to her hand.
“It’s cool,” I said to her, then called out to him, “There’s a remote and headphones for the TV in the center console, PJ. Feel free to turn it on.”
Our drive across town was easily going to be about thirty minutes with traffic and I figured the kid needed some entertainment that wasn’t adult conversation. By the time I’d pulled off, he was fully concentrated on the TV, loud music blaring from the wireless headset. I was glad to see that cable set up finally getting some usage. I’d installed the TVs and satellite receiver myself, but typically had no use for them, as I was always the one driving my truck.
“He’s so moody tonight. This usually only happens when his feelings are hurt. I’m going to have to ask Dev what happened when his mood shifted. Like I said, he normally loves hanging out with her. He was excited to be spending the night when we parted ways earlier.”
“How old is he again?”
“Ten.”
“Oh hell it could be anything at that age. She probably told him he couldn’t have another cookie and instantly became the meanest woman in the world. I remember not talking to my mother for three days once when I was ten. Her offense? Telling me I’d had enough pie after just one slice.”
Celena laughed, “Oh my god I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I don’t play when it comes to my mama’s icebox pie. Not even she had the privilege of tryna curb my intake. I waited ‘til she was asleep and housed the rest of that pie that night. She got the last laugh though because I was up all night on the toilet, hurting baaaaad after being that foolish. Didn’t talk to her because my pride was hurt. PJ will get over whatever offense he believes was committed against him sooner than you think.”
Soon we were pulling up to Celena’s. On the ride over, PJ had fallen asleep. I offered to carry him inside, so she didn’t have to deal with even more attitude from him if she woke him up to walk inside. Celena readily agreed and grabbed his bag. The kid was so thin, weighing next to nothing that carrying him was light work. Once we were inside, she directed me to the guest room where he was sleeping. The kid slept like a log, not once awakening as I removed his shoes – Celena said it’d be easier to just let him sleep in his street clothes – and tucked him in under the covers. As I walked out of the room, Celena pressed a quick kiss to his forehead and followed behind me.
“I had a really great time tonight, Karim. Who knew changing oil was actually kinda fun?”
“You think that’s fun? Wait til I teach you how to change spark plugs. Now that’s lit!” I responded, laughing.
“You are soooo corny,” she said, while trying not to laugh herself and failing.
“For real though, I had a good time tonight, too. Can’t wait to do it again. For now, I’ma get outta here, let you get some rest.”
Celena walked me to the living room where we lingered for a bit. I leaned over to give her a hug and when I pulled back, she grabbed my face.
“Do the dance.”
I looked at her puzzled for a second before realizing what she was talking about. I tilted her chin up, angling her lips upward as I lowered my head. As my head drifted closer, her eyelids lowered. I quickly closed the distance between us, our mouths fusing with a light touch that gave way to a slow savoring of each other’s mouths. I drew her lower lip into my mouth before she opened for me completely, allowing our tongues to parry for dominance. She sighed into the kiss, snuggling a bit deeper into the loose embrace of my arms. As the kiss deepened, my hands moved down to her ass, squeezing and molding the shapely globes I’d been admiring since we first met.
Abruptly, Celena pulled away, stepping outside of arms reach. I tried drawing her closer again, but she placed her arms out in front of her.
“You…” she started and then stopped, biting her lower lip, “you’re dangerous. You gotta get up outta my house, man.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “That’s all you.”
She strolled past me and opened the front door.
“Bye, Karim.”
“All right, all right, I can take a hint,” I said, slowly walking toward the door. Just before passing through the frame, I reached out quickly and grabbed Celena, hauling her in for another quick kiss. As quickly as I had snatched her up, I released her and walked out of the door.
“Good night, Celena.”
“You’re different. Something’s different about you,” my sister said while staring at me with a concentrated expression on her face.
It was yet another Sunday that we were at Indoor Sports watching my nephew murder the rest of these kids with his athleticism. Flag football season was over; giving way to the indoor soccer league. PJ had only started playing last year, but he impressed the coaching staff so much he was given permission to play with an older age bracket this session. Even playing kids who were two to three years older than him hadn’t slowed his stride. He was giving them a run for their money; those hours of watching Euro footballers do their thing on YouTube having played off.
“There’s nothing different. I’m still the same old me. Same hair, same athleisure wear, same raggedy nails in need of a fill, sister dear.”
“Nope, I’m not talking physically. There’s been a change in your demeanor. You’re practically glow…wait, you lil slattern…you got some didn’t you?”
“I did not and…I’m not discussing this with you right here.”
“Bull. Shit,” Pat gritted out, “You holding out on your big sister?”
“No more than you were holding out about ol’ coachy coach. You wanna talk about that now, too?”
“Stay outta grown folks business, little one,” Pat snapped.
“Aw naw…we talkin’ bout mister ‘make sure you let that be known’,” I joked, delighting in seeing my normally unflappable big sister growing increasingly red in the face as I teased her.
“Stop deflecting. This isn’t about me and Damon right now.”
“But there is a you and Damon? First name basis and everything. Whoaaaaa.”
“I never liked you, you know. I tried to get mama to take you back to the hospital day one.”
I cackled as I managed to successfully derail her interrogation and get under her skin. Pat was always so damned cool and it bothered the hell outta me. She knew it all and didn’t hesitate to lord it over my head whenever she could. I rarely got one in on her, so I was definitely relishing this moment. Mainly because she was right…kinda. I was glowing, but it wasn’t from getting any—despite all of my deepest desires of wanting to get some.
But we were taking it slow. Getting to know one another. Over the past few weeks Karim and I had been together a lot. Lunch dates, dinner dates, hours long phone conversations that reminded me of being in high school. The only thing missing were the arguments where we went back and forth about which of us would hang up first. We had, shamefully, fallen asleep on the phone together more than a few times. We were still in the fun, fresh new stage and I was one hundred percent smitten with him.
Karim felt like home. Which, if I was being completely honest, scared the shit out of me because how many other men had I made a home in, thinking they were a safe place to land, but they were more like a bando—shot out shells of nothingness. I saw the potential though. I always saw the potential. The “what could be”. With Karim however, there was no could be…he just was. Always sure of himself, kept promises made, and was proving to be a really dependable guy.
He was guilelessly honest, very transparent…and, much like he kept insisting, very different from any man with whom I’d had any romantic dealings. Which was refreshing, but also maddening because he insisted upon moving at his own pace. He wasn’t moved by any of my overtures, direct or subliminal. Beyond a few heated make out sessions and heavy petting, he refused to give into me. Yet he still had me out here shining bright like those diamonds Rihanna warbled about. Beaming off of possibility.
PJ’s game was over and he finagled his way
into a play date post-game, so that left Pat and I with nothing to do that afternoon. I would normally be hanging out with Karim, but he was busy with his mother and grandmother. It has been a while since Pat and I had a true sister day, so we decided to grab some Chinese takeout and wine and hang out at her place.
Over beef and broccoli, Pat broached the topic of my glow again. She was like a dog with a bone, so I knew she wouldn’t give up or be distracted this time. So I started running down the last few weeks with Karim to her, gushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Pat was oddly quiet and reserved as I talked. She was usually full of quips and digs, so I had to ask.
“Okay…what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes.
“Spit it out, I know you got some smart commentary.”
“I…can we have a for real conversation? No bullshit, no anger, no assumptions. Just an honest conversation.”
I tensed up immediately but replied, “Aight, let’s go.”
“Do you ever think of how Mother and Daddy’s relationship really fucked us up?”
Whoa. I definitely wasn’t expecting that to be the first thing that came out of her mouth. We never really talked about our parents’ relationship…or more accurately these days, lack thereof. Growing up, I thought my father worshipped the ground my mother walked on. They presented like the perfect couple—doting husband, loving wife. But all that glittered wasn’t gold and for a very long time my sister shielded me from the cracks in the veneer of their relationship. Until she couldn’t.
When I was about ten years old, a woman showed up on our doorstep—holding a little boy who was the spitting image of my father. It was like that Mary J. Blige song come to life. And my mother, bless her heart, remained cooler than a polar bear’s toenails as this woman detailed a relationship with my father that had spanned more years than my life on Earth at that time.
