Page 83 of Roman Blake
I huffed a laugh, even though my chest hurt.
“Trust that if y’all meant,” she added, “your presence won’t be the only thing holdin’ it. She gotta choose you, same as you chose her.”
Silence sat between us for a minute.
Then I nodded.
“Aight,” I said quietly. “I’ll back up.”
She reached across the table, squeezed my hand. “Good. And baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let your grief make you a villain in somebody else story,” she said. “You been through hell. That don’t give you a pass to drag somebody through a new one ‘cause you scared of losin’ ‘em.”
That one landed hard.
I sat there, lettin’ it sink in.
I knew pullin’ back was gon’ feel like withdrawal.
But if I wanted any chance at seein’ Melissa choose me without fear, I had to give her somethin’ I hadn’t given her since we met.
Room.
That night, I laid in my bed, phone face-down.
I didn’t drive past her buildin’.
Didn’t check her mama street.
Didn’t sit outside Charlie Mac shit.
I texted once.
You home?
She replied.
Yeah.
I stared at the screen.
My fingers itched to say,Text me when you wake up. Tell me your plans. Let me know where you at.
Instead, I typed:
Aight. Sleep good.
No overkill, and no extra shit.
It felt wrong and right at the same time.
Like takin’ off a cast and tryin’ to walk on a leg I ain’t trusted in a while.
It ate at me.
But for once, I let it.
