Meet Cute, Maybe?

In all my 32 years of living, I’ve never wanted to curse at momma as bad as I do now. I should’ve known she was up to something when she barged into my room, demanding I be the one to pick up the order for her book club’s luncheon. Honestly, it being seafood should’ve been the dead giveaway, but who can deny a request from Celestine Haris? Not me, apparently.

“You gonna answer me or what?” he pushed, reminding me that I am, in fact, still visible. The best thing for me would’ve been just to keep walking through the door and back to the car—but no, I’m frozen like a deer in headlights because I believed momma when she said, “child, that boy is running it all now. He’s too busy to be working in that one restaurant.” I never knew that lady to be a liar, but I stand corrected.

“Oh, umm—I’m not gonna be here that long. I just wanted to spend some time with momma and daddy,” I said, resenting my feet for taking steps closer to him.

“Right. Right. Your moms told me how you be out there directing them big broadway shows. That’s wassup. I know they glad to have you back home, even if it’s for a little while.”

“Mmm. Yeeeaaah, so how are you?” I asked, timidly. I don’t know if it was me, him, or both of us, but we drifted closer together. And damn, he smells good. He looks even better if I’m being honest with myself. Shit, I should’ve listened when momma said not to leave the house in sweats. I was just supposed to get the food and head back to submit more applications.

“I’ve been good, good—no complaints on my end. But look, since you not gonna be here long, let me take you out. I’d love to hear about these shows you direct.” He asked, surprising me. I never knew him to be such a straight shooter.

“Um. Okay, Sure.” I answered, shocking myself.

“Bet. I can come pick you up tonight at 7, if you’re free.”

“That works,” I answered with a smile.

That evening, I knew I had to look my best. Those sweats I had on earlier were not it—and I don’t need this man thinking I done lost it. Cus to be quite honest, baby, I only grew finer with time.

“Now hold on just a minute,” my daddy said when I came down the stairs in my satin one-shoulder, skin-tight dress. I had forgotten momma and daddy had never seen me dressed like this before, but this is me—the real me, not who they saw me as 14 years ago.

“Ben, don’t start. She is a grown woman, and—“Momma paused when she turned the corner and looked at me, “—lord, Billie. You are stunning. Come here, baby.” She reached out, squeezing me into a tight hug. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you tryna get ya man back,” Momma added with a chuckle.

“Momma, please!” I exclaimed.

I looked in the mirror just as the door rang. Daddy got up to open it, but I made him wait. I needed to add a bit more butter to my skin. Having my bronze skin glowing against this brown dress adds that extra oomph.

I took one final look in the hallway mirror before letting Daddy open the door. I was taken aback by the delivery driver holding a pathetic bouquet of grocery store flowers, a card, and a balloon that said, “I’m sorry,” on it.