by Nia Arthurs
Pride unfurled in my chest.
Nothing could change us.
My eyes flicked over the side of her face. Smooth brown skin. Large, golden hoops hanging from her tiny ears. Glossy, dark hair. Her curls framed her oval face like a shimmering curtain.
My eyes lingered on her loose coils. I knew way more about natural hair than a grown man should. Like the fact that Imani’s hairstyle was called a ‘wash-and-go’. That it required an inordinate amount of leave-in conditioner, detangler cream, gel and oil. And that Imani was out of commission for half-a-day when she decided on the style.
Was I proud that my brain stored so much information on natural hair? No. But back then, everything about Imani had been important to me.
And her hair was important to her…
My fingers twitched as another memory hit.
I remembered touching Imani’s hair, sitting her between my legs and combing her locks out on wash-day. She’d smack my thigh every time I yanked a knot so I learned to be slow and gentle, whisking my fingers through her scalp, hearing her little moans…
Imani nudged me in the side.
I glanced up in surprise.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
“Nothing has you blushing like a tomato?” She arched an eyebrow.
I pressed a hand to my cheek and felt the heat there. What the hell? I hadn’t blushed since I graduated middle school.
Imani wiggled her finger, eyes narrowed. “What nastiness were you imagining in church, Elliot?”
I snaked my arm over the back of the pew, a whisper away from her shoulder. Bending down, I taunted softly, “Do you really want to know?”
She stiffened and leaned away from me, shaking her head.
I laughed. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed teasing her.
Up ahead, I saw Gran’s neck twist around. Her dark eyes narrowed like an eagle finding prey. I straightened up, hauled my arm back and inched away from Imani. Gran jutted her chin down once and faced the front.
I grinned at her back.
She’d been crazily excited to attend church this morning. Woke me up at seven to rush through breakfast and then pushed me to the garage.
We’d arrived at Zion Ministries minutes before the front doors were thrown open. I’d escorted Gran up the stairs thinking we’d sit together. Instead, I’d been trampled by a flock of screaming, laughing Creole women.
They’d converged on my grandmother, hyping her up like she was some kind of celebrity. Gran left me alone without a backward glance and I figured I’d have to sit by myself.
But I liked the way things worked out.
A guitar strummed.
“Looks like they’re getting started,” I said, noticing the short, dark-skinned man who approached the podium. He was dressed for a conference—three-piece suit, polka-dot tie, and shiny black shoes.
Imani nodded.
We stood for the opening prayer and remained standing while the music began to play.
Gran had dragged me to church when I was a kid, but nothing back home prepared me for the Caribbean version of the praise and worship session. There wasn’t a single hymn in the line up. The drums played a fast-paced, African beat. More butts were shaking here than in a club.
Imani couldn’t resist the music. I noticed her hips going and her feet shuffling in time to the rhythm. She reined it in enough so that she didn’t bring attention to herself, but I could tell she’d be getting down and dirty in another setting.
Feeling slightly out of place, I clapped and swayed off beat with no hopes of catching the rhythm.
When we sat again, I glanced over. Perspiration dotted Imani’s forehead. I went for my handkerchief and reached over to wipe her off when I froze and shifted tactics.
Handing her the cloth instead, I said, “It’s hot, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” She chuckled, eyes bright.
I just stared at her for a moment, taking her in, soaking up the rays of her brilliance.
It was enough. Doing nothing but looking at her had to be enough.
“What?” She stopped, handkerchief pasted to her cheek.
“Nothing.” I stared straight ahead and forced myself to remember my place.
The service continued and the pastor got up to preach. “Someone asked me the other day, ‘Pas, if God created everything, then who created God’?”
Chuckles broke out.
“It’s a good question,” Pastor Matthew said. “And here’s the answer. To be God, you have to be the source. He is God because he is the Creator and not the created.”
Heads bobbed.
My mind began to wonder and so did my eyes… right over to Imani. I noticed the glossy finish on her nails. Beautiful. Understated. Different. Back in the day, she used to wear bright, neon colors on both her fingernails and toes.
“The King gave His children dominion. You can choose to believe or not. That is your right as a king and a queen.”
Imani used to be the queen of our group. Every guy in our circle secretly ached to get with her, but she was always looking at someone else, always flitting just out of reach.
But she was here now.
Even if she wasn’t mine.
My eyes dipped to Imani’s legs. Her pants were loose and fluttered gently with each tiny movement. Did she used to wear clothes like that? I remembered Imani as a shorts-and-T-shirt kind of gal.
She scratched her nose and cleared her throat, her gaze slipping over to me.
I quickly looked away and focused on the pastor.
“But if you remember nothing else, know this. You were created by the Creator so you could create. Go forth and multiply. You have a purpose. You have worth.”
She shifted, her hip bouncing against mine.
The pastor nodded. “Touch your neighbor and say ‘You are priceless’.”
I brightened and swiveled to Imani. She pretended she didn’t see and spoke to the woman on the other side of her.
I grunted.
Waited.
She ignored me and turned behind her to murmur to some guy with a moustache reminiscent of the creepier undercurrents of the eighties.
“You are valuable,” the woman to my left said, tapping my shoulder.
I nodded and politely echoed the sentiment.
“Now, hold your neighbor’s hand and tell them, ‘you’re touching an original’.”
I grabbed Imani’s hand before she could move.
Her head whipped over and she shot me a dark look.
“You’re priceless,” I said softly, staring straight in her eyes. You’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. You’re amazing.
She licked her lips, her nostrils flaring.
I tilted my head. “Say it back.”
“No.”
“You heard what the preacher said.”
Imani leaned close. “You’re annoying.”
“I’ll take it.”
She yanked her hand out of mine. And I swear, I intended on letting her go. I had no intentions of holding on, but when her fingers started slipping over my palm and catching air, I found myself clamping down.
Imani dropped her gaze to our hands, interlocked by a single finger.
My heart throbbed.
“Sorry,” I croaked and started pulling back.
To my surprise, she hooked her finger more tightly around mine and lowered our arms to rest on the bench between us.
My jaw dropped.
The pain in my chest worsened.
Imani stared straight ahead, but I saw the muscles in her smooth jaw working like crazy. She bore down on the pastor as if every word he spoke was gold, while holding tightly to my finger.
The air turned stifling.
We shouldn’t be doing this.
I should let her go.
But I didn’t.
We held on for dear life until the pastor concluded and we had to stand for the closing prayer. When Imani released me, m
y finger was bent at an odd angle and it hurt to move it. Even then, I was the happiest man in the room.
The aisle filled with parishioners winding through the door. Murmurs and excited chatter buzzed loudly. Imani’s smile was pained as she shook the hands that shot out at her, but I could sense she wanted to leave.
I focused on getting us out of the pew, but we made slow progress. People kept blocking the path.
We shuffled forward.
This is worse than the evening commute.
I glanced down at Imani.
She met my gaze and smiled awkwardly, her eyes communicating her discomfort. She regretted holding my hand. I could see it all over her face, could hear it loud as day.
I winced and made an internal promise to cool it.
What I wanted, what I’d always wanted, was for Imani to be happy.
Even if that wasn’t with me.
Chapter 10
IMANI
I’m crazy. I’ve gone certifiably insane. I can’t believe I held Elliot’s hand.
Me.
The soon-to-be-married woman.
I’ve done it.
I’ve officially become a ho.
Maybe I should turn back. Ask Pastor Matthew for some counseling. Beg him to perform an exorcism, to pray Elliot out of my head, out of my heart.
Do you even hear yourself, Imani?
What I needed was to get out of here. Away from Elliot’s magnetic presence and bulging biceps and blue eyes that turned intense when he called me priceless.
My foot tapped the ground as I inched ahead, my eyes on the exits. Almost there.
Almost…
A short woman popped into my frame of view. “Hello.”
I startled and went careening back, bumping into Elliot. He automatically cradled my elbows to steady me. His warmth was a brand on my back. My throat squeezed.
I caught my balance and straightened, pulling away from him, but his touch lingered. His presence still loomed over me, merging into my space. Like we were together. Like we were one.
The woman looked at us both with a private, knowing smirk. I swallowed nervously, studying her small frame and pleasant face.
She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Which was common since I was horrible with both faces and names.
I clutched my purse strap. “Have we… met before?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” She stood on the tips of her toes, hooked her arm around my neck and gave me a warm squeeze. “I’m Alexandra May, Elliot’s grandmother.”
The fact that she was hugging me out of nowhere became less important when her name registered. My eyes bugged and I was glad that she had her head resting on my shoulder so she couldn’t see my reaction.
“The Alexandra May?” I squealed, my unease swept away by a rising tide of excitement. Seeing Elliot’s ‘Gran’ in the flesh was like meeting a book character in real life.
She pulled back, a pleased smirk flirting with her lips. “Do you know me?”
The number of stories Elliot had shared about his grandmother growing up, I didn’t just know her, I truly, deeply loved her.
“I’m honored to finally meet you.” I reached out and gave her another hug.
She let loose an astonished chuckle. “Why, thank you, dear.”
“I’m Imani,” I said.
“I know who you are.” Alexandra’s eyes sparkled. She looked me up and down, still holding my hand. “You look even more beautiful in person.”
I winked. “So do you.”
She laughed, a fluttery, beautiful sound that had me half-expecting her to sprout wings and start singing ‘Bippity Boppity Boo’. “Do you have any plans for lunch, Imani? If not, I would love if you’d come over and have a meal with us.”
“Uh…” My eyes swept to the left. As much as I enjoyed meeting Gran, avoiding Elliot was a priority. I couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes and the rules of appropriate behavior became increasingly lax when we were together.
“Please?”
I bobbed my head.
Who could say no to this woman?
Alexandra clapped like a toddler who’d been told she could go ahead and have that cookie. “Excellent. Did you drive?”
I nodded.
She wound her arm around my elbow. “Then I’ll ride with you.”
“So you’re just gonna ditch me like that?” Elliot asked with a fake pout and a shake of his car keys.
Gran stuck out her tongue. “Yes, yes I am.”
I turned to Elliot. “You bought your car already?”
“What car?” Alexandra asked.
“When we met a few days ago, Elliot asked me to go car shopping with him.”
“I see.” Alexandra arched an eyebrow. Again, that knowing look beamed from her eyes. I wondered if Elliot had spoken to her about me. I wondered what he’d said that inspired that expression.
Elliot folded his arms over his chest, bringing attention to his massive arms. “You sound disappointed, Mami.”
“When did I say that?”
“It was implied.”
“I’ll imply your face.” I raised a fist and shook it.
He laughed, the sound so warm and deep that it sent shivers all the way down to my toes.
“I wouldn’t have had time to help you anyway. I’m up to my eyeballs in wedding details.”
Elliot pulled his lips in and glanced away. “I see.”
The air turned tense.
Alexandra cleared her throat. “Alright then. Why don’t we get moving? If Imani doesn’t mind, I’ll ask her to take the scenic route back home.”
“Take your time.” Elliot stepped back, his watch glinting in the sunshine. “I’ll need at least a half hour to finish up.”
“Finish up what?” I asked.
He raised both eyebrows and said cockily. “Lunch.”
I whipped around. “You’re cooking?”
“Roast chicken and potatoes.”
“Your favorite,” I mumbled. Realizing how wistful I sounded, I added, “Is it still?”
He nodded. “If I remember correctly, it was one of your favorites too.”
“Only because you butchered everything else.”
“My bad. I didn’t have a state-of-the-art kitchen in my dorm room.”
“Handy excuse.”
“Even then, my rice and beans was still better than yours.” He grinned.
The sun glared angrily overhead. Which was the only reason my body heat dialed up to a thousand.
Alexandra cleared her throat.
I blinked rapidly, struggling to regain my bearings.
“Shall we go?” she asked.
I bobbed my head, embarrassed that I was so flustered. “We’ll catch you later, Elliot. Ms. Alexandra, I’m parked this way.”
“Call me Gran.” She waved at Elliot. “Bye, honey.”
“Be careful.”
Alexandra planted a hand on her hip. “I’ll be perfectly fine.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Elliot winked at me. “She bites.”
“Young man!”
Elliot laughed mischievously.
I chuckled and escorted the sprite older woman to my car.
We climbed in.
As soon as I started the engine, I wound the window down and turned up the air conditioning.
Gran fanned her face. “Hot day, huh?”
“Unbelievably.” As the air began to cool, I wound the windows back up and drove toward Marine Parade—a stretch near the Caribbean Sea.
White-capped waves glittered in the early afternoon light. Coconut trees dotted the landscape, offering shade to the cobblestoned sidewalk. A large concrete wall divided the road from the rocky shore that hounded the water.
“Thank you for indulging me, dear,” Gran said, her face turned my way. “I’m sorry to be a bother.”
I shook my head. “No bother… but… why do I get the feeling that you didn’t ask me out here just to enjoy the view?”
�
�Smart girl.”
“I’m not too dusty.”
She chuckled. “You’re right. I had an ulterior motive.”
“Is it about Elliot?”
“Yes.” She sighed.
“Ms. Alexandra—I mean, Gran, Elliot and I are just friends and…”
“Did he tell you?” She cut me off. “About his mother?”
I blinked. “About how she died?”
“No. Before then.”
I parked near the sidewalk so I could focus on Gran properly. “Before?”
She primly folded her hands. “Olivia had Elliot when she was still in college. His father was a frat kid with no sense of responsibility and bailed after screwing her.” The term ‘screwing her’ sounded unnatural on Gran’s genteel lips. “Her family was wealthy and very strict, so when she told them about the pregnancy, they kicked her out. Left her with nothing.”
Her words tripped a memory. Elliot and I, side-by-side, in a hammock during spring break. Silver moonlight. A gentle breeze. Whispered secrets between every swing.
“I think Elliot told me something along those lines,” I murmured.
“Olivia really tried her best, but she was going through a tough time because of her family. She had to drop out of school, work several jobs and it was overwhelming for her. So… she abandoned Elliot.”
My eyes bugged. “What?”
“He was a few months old. She took him to a church and left him on the doorstep with a note and a little cloth bag.”
For a moment, the car filled with stifling silence.
Gran looked at me expectantly, as if giving me an opportunity to speak. My mind went blank, churning with a million thoughts that I didn’t have the guts to voice.
Gran continued, her voice quiet but even. “Olivia eventually returned to find her son. She was filled with regrets and lived the rest of her life trying to make it up to him.”
“So Elliot didn’t know what she’d done?”
“Not until she confessed on her death bed.”
“How did he take it?”
“He forgave her instantly. That was all she needed to hear so she could pass in peace.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I was the one who found Elliot on the doorstep of the church. I fell in love after one look into those blue eyes.”
