Page 159 of IRL: In Real Life
It was home in its fullest language.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt peaceful in it while bringing a man into it.
Not because I hadn’t brought men around before. I had lived enough life to know how to stand beside a man in front of my people without turning into a girl.
But this was different because Micah had already become more than company. He had gotten into the actual structure of my life. My mornings. My body. My patience. My appetite. The quiet places in me where ease had started feeling more dangerous than excitement because ease had the power to stay.
When my phone buzzed against the counter, I already knew who it was.
Micah: I’m outside, baby.
“Don’t start,” I said over my shoulder.
“I didn’t say a word,” my mother replied.
“You was about to.”
Denise snorted and kept cutting watermelon.
The late-summer air outside felt warm enough to keep a body honest. Sun high. Neighbors’ grills going. Somebody farther down the block playing Isley Brothers loud enough that the whole street had to live in it.
Micah stood beside his Benz looking like a man who understood exactly what kind of day this was and had dressed for it accordingly. White polo close through his shoulders. Dark denim. White-and-blue Jordans. Gold chain at his throat. Fade sharp. Diamond stud catching light when he turned toward me. He held two foil pans and a bouquet of flowers for my mother like he had been doing this his whole life.
Damn.
The sight of him standing there with food and flowers did something to me so warm and grown and immediate I had to stop for half a second before walking the rest of the way down the driveway.
He saw it happen.
His mouth shifted around the smallest smile.
“What?” I asked.
“You look nervous.”
“Why you all in my business?”
“It’s cute.”
“You always have a comeback.”
He laughed softly and leaned down to kiss the corner of my mouth before I could say anything else. “You good?”
That question again.
Always simple.
Always steady.
Always somehow reaching the place that mattered.
“Yes,” I said.
I meant it. I was more than good.
I took the flowers from him and looked down at the arrangement. Deep coral roses, little white blooms tucked between them, eucalyptus threaded through the whole thing so it looked thoughtful instead of generic.
“My mother is going to love these.”
