Pleasure blossoms inside me. I hope when we're half blind and soaking each other's dentures, he'll still call me his girl. I'm feeling so good, even the weight of many pairs of eyes-curious, speculative, assuming-bearing down on my shoulders and back the whole way up the short hallway leading to the kitchen can't short-circuit my grin.
They can't, but Jade does as soon as I see her leaning against the kitchen counter. Our eyes clash and our smiles fade in sync. Her hair is neatly braided into rows, and her smooth skin is the color of burnt caramel. The big doe eyes narrow on my face, and she doesn't try to hide her irritation when she tosses her ever-present Raiders cap onto the counter.
"Hey Jade." I brighten my voice, hoping the undercurrents that always run through our interactions won't be as strong today.
"What's up," she responds dispassionately, not trying as hard. Apparently, I'm much better at faking than Jade is . . . or maybe I just care more.
"Put this on." Ms. James passes me a red apron with Thug Life printed on the front. Her full lips tip into a smile.
"That was Marlon's idea of a joke one Christmas. Just put it on so your pretty outfit won't get wet."
"Wet?" I tie the apron over my clothes and await further instructions. "You wanted me to help cook the collard greens, right?"
I try not to sound too eager. My heart should not skip a beat at the prospect of finally learning the secret to the greens she makes for Grip.
But it does.
"Oh, no, little girl." Ms. James pats my shoulder. "You ain't ready for heat yet. You're on wash duty this first time."
"Excuse me?" I glance at Jade for a clue about what wash duty means, but she's grinning down at her phone, fingers flying furiously over the keys. "Wash duty?"
Ms. James hefts several bags of greens onto the counter.
"Wash all these." She grabs a knife, using it to wave me closer. "Watch me now. You gotta take the leaves off the stalk just like this."
She demonstrates, cutting the leaves away and discarding the center stalk while I stare at the massive pile of greens.
"And then I get to cook them?" I ask tentatively.
"No, baby. You ain't graduated to cooking yet. Today your lane is just washing." She heads for the door without looking back. "Stay in your lane. I'll be back in a few minutes. Let me go check on this grill-you know Amir is out here grilling these links, and ain't no telling what he's messing up."
She blows out of the kitchen as swiftly as she blew into it, and in her wake, I stand clutching the knife in one hand and a bushel of greens in the other. I really wanted to cook, but sense that she's testing me. I've never met a test I couldn't pass, and this one-though I don't fully comprehend the point of it-will be no different.
While Jade continues texting, laughing under her breath intermittently, I set myself to methodically washing and cutting. The muted sounds of laughter and conversation from the living room along with the shouts of men playing dominoes in the backyard settle my nerves. I'm here, but not here. Nothing is expected of me for a few minutes. It gives me time to collect myself, and maybe that's what Ms. James wanted to happen. Maybe she saw past my serene façade to the uncertain girl floundering inside and knew I needed a few minutes alone.
Well, alone with Jade, who wears a huge grin and keeps texting as if I'm not in the room. I clear my throat to remind her I'm here and ready to be her friend. I'm an idiot. I should be glad she's not castigating me or looking at me like I'm pocket lint, but instead I'm drawing her attention. Why? Because though she's a bitch, Grip loves her. I know he wants her in his life, which means she'll have to be in my life, and I'll have to be in hers.
Thus, the trying so hard.
"Someone special?" I ask, looking up from the greens with what I hope is a natural smile.
Jade's answer is a cocked brow and dead eyes.
"Huh?" she asks, voice flat. "What'd you say to me?"
"Um . . . I just saw you texting and smiling and thought maybe . . . there's a guy or-"
"I don't do dick."
My hands freeze under the stream of cold water. I can't keep my foot out of my mouth around this girl. Did Grip tell me she was a lesbian and I forgot?
"Oh, that's fine." I shrug and keep smiling. "I mean, I'm fine with that."
"Glad I have your permission to fuck who I want." She rolls her eyes like I'm stupid, and I feel stupid most of the time when I'm talking to her. I know people. I get people, I figure them out. It's part of my job to understand and charm them and, well, it sounds bad, but use them to get what I need for my artists. But, I can't understand Jade, and I sure as hell can't charm her.
"I didn't mean it that way, Jade. I just find myself grinning like an idiot when I'm texting Grip and thought-"
"So now I'm an idiot?"
I toss a leaf into the sink, frustration making my movements jerky.
"Would you stop picking apart everything I say?" I draw a calming breath in through my nose and push it out through my mouth. "I'm trying to make conversation, that's all."
The slow, sweet smile that slides onto Jade's face is incongruous and should be my first clue that she's up to tearing me apart.
"Okay. Let's make conversation, Bristol." She straightens from the counter and crosses over to stand beside me. "Since you all in my grill and up in my business, I'll tell you who I'm texting."
She pauses, eyes riveted to my face for my response. I school my features and won't give her one.
"It's Qwest."
That name should not give me heartburn, but every time I hear it, it's like a lit cigarette behind my ribs. Maybe it was seeing Qwest with Grip all those weeks and knowing he was fucking her, fearing that she was fucking his feelings for me right out and I would be left lonely and still in love with him. Maybe it was Black Twitter rallying behind her and turning on me, painting her as the victim and me as the villain. I don't know why I feel this way when I hear Qwest's name, but she is my sore spot, and Jade knows it. She's twisting her knuckle into a bruise on my heart, and even though I was prepared, I know my face doesn't hide it.
"Oh, I didn't know you and Qwest were together." I laugh, trying to make a joke of it . . . a bad, awkward joke, which is the only kind I can seem to manage with Jade.
"Oh, no. Not me and Qwest. She loves dick." Cruelty engraves a smile onto Jade's smooth, pretty brown face. "Just ask Grip. He knows."
These are the cleanest greens anyone will ever eat. I'm scrubbing this one leaf mercilessly, almost to the point of translucence, training my eyes on the sink so Jade doesn't gain any ammunition from the hurt I know she would see. All I want is to be this girl's friend, and she can't tolerate five minutes with me. She's carrying on an entire conversation with Qwest while I'm standing right here trying harder than I've ever tried with anyone.
"I meant that I didn't realize you two knew each other," I mumble.
"We didn't really, until recently. I'm writing some stuff for her new album." Her pause fills with anticipation of something I know will be at my expense. "Grip introduced us a few weeks ago."
The knife slips off the stalk, slicing into my finger, matching the tiny nick Jade just made across my heart. It's not a big deal; rationally, I know that. Grip is contractually bound to work on Qwest's next album, writing and producing. Hell, I negotiated the deal, but he wasn't mine then-only he's always been mine, even when I didn't claim him, and it screws a wrench through my eye that I'm the one who threw them together, that Qwest knows the weight of his body because of me. That glorious fullness when he swells within me-she's had that. The sweet heat of his panting breath in my ear when he comes-she felt that before I did. I can't ever take that knowledge from her, but I want to strip every memory of him from her mind, body, and heart. So, I know it's not the tiny injuries Jade inflicts now that are at the bottom of my irrational response; it's all my old self-inflicted wounds that haven't quite healed.
"You know it's just a matter of time, right?" Jade tilts her head, considering me. "He's not the first black man turned out by some white pussy."
"Shut the hell up." I snap my eyes to her face. "Don't talk about us. You have no idea."
"You're just a high to him." Jade's full lips curl around her derision. "And just like any high, he'll come down. You'll wear off once he gets tired of explaining his blackness and answering your dumb questions. One day he'll want to be understood, not just fucked."
"I do understand him." I'm certain of it, but in a way, she carries the same brand of charisma Grip does, the same confidence that, even twisted around a lie, entices you to believe.