Bittersweet: An Equilibrium Novella

by Christina C Jones

“Oh!” my mother giggled, utterly-friggin’-delighted. “You’re very good at this, aren’t you?”

  “I’d say it runs in the family. Your next one is on me, okay?”

  Mama’s eyes went wide. “Well, thank you – this one never gives me free lattes.”

  Royal looked at me and winked. “Anika’s a good girl, so I’m not surprised.”

  Oh, God.

  “Royal was just leaving, right?” I asked, giving him a pointed look that only amused him more.

  “Royal,” my mother repeated. “What an elegant name. And so handsome.”

  “Thank you, I—”

  “Go home, Royal.” I grabbed my mother’s hand, pulling her inside and closing the door before any further conversation could happen. I hoped that would save me, but… of course not.

  “Oh, Nik!” she gushed, way too excited. “That is a very nice looking young man – is that why you’re so “fine” with us leaving for the holidays?”

  I sighed. “He’s not a “very nice looking young man.” He’s the one I’ve been complaining about making work a hellscape for the last two years!”

  Mama shook her head. “Baby, you do not have to play coy with me! You’re in here looking all flushed, no clothes on, with that man leaving your apartment in the morning – how do you think you got here, lil girl? Your mama knows the game!”

  “Oh my God, it’s not—”

  “You do not have to defend or explain – you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I’m just glad you’re out of whatever that phase you were in was. Now I can feel at peace with going on this trip and leaving you here by yourself – you can have yourself a Merry Dickmas too,” she laughed, as my eyes went wide.

  “What on earth have you been watching, Mama?! Merry Dickmas?! I…”

  “That’s cute, right?! That’s what I’ma be doing with your daddy all in that sa—”

  “Okay, no. Not gonna talk about that,” I interrupted her, holding up my hands. “And Royal and I are…” I let out a sigh, as what she’d said really clicked. “We’re going to spend some time together over the holiday,” I said, not overtly lying, but also knowing exactly how she was going to interpret those words.

  In a way that gave her the comfort she needed to enjoy her vacation without being worried about me.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation to one I wouldn’t have to pepper with half-truths.

  “Well, the weather was bad last night, and I tried to text and call you this morning, but you weren’t answering. So, as soon as the roads were clear, I drove up to check on you. And see if you’ll have breakfast with me – to make up for our upcoming lost time.”

  I smiled, nodding. “Of course I’ll have breakfast with you. I’m already showered, I just have to get dressed.”

  “Mmmhmm,” my mother snickered. “Now I see why you weren’t answering the phone, too busy getting—”

  “Nope. Not doing that.”

  Five

  Royal

  Well, that was definitely worth it.

  Whatever inconvenience I’d experienced between getting Anika home last night and waking up entirely too early in the morning had been paid back tenfold, between her reaction to finding me in her place and the completely unexpected gem of her mother stopping by.

  Now, I easily had enough teasing material to last through the New Year.

  A little of the pep in my step faded as my glance fell on the door of the apartment across from Anika’s – my brother’s apartment. Noble was off living his damn dreams right now, singing his heart out on stages across the country, on a self-funded indie tour. I was his big brother, so obviously, I roasted everything from his wardrobe to his lyric choices as often as I got the chance, but… I was proud of him. He was doing something.

  While I was here in the Heights trying to prove myself even worthy of nepotism.

  Cold world.

  I jogged down the stairs, anxious to get out into the piercing December cold. Neither the temperature nor the weather was as bad as they were going to get, but it was low enough to shock the system after the cozy warmth of being inside.

  Frosty enough to be refreshing, and kick my brain into a different, less depressing gear.

  The sidewalks had been salted like I thought, but it was still advisable to take care with my steps – another thing to focus on instead of letting my mind wander. I was careful as fuck, all the way to my own apartment, where I wasn’t remotely surprised to find my roommate, Dean, sprawled across the couch with a bowl of cereal in his hands, and the TV on.

  “Whassup, walk of shame,” he chided as I took off my wet shoes and coat at the door. “Walking in the next day in the same shit you left in. Can’t believe I live with a whore.”

  I shook my head, chuckling at his commentary. “Not even like that. What the fuck are you watching?” I asked, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of a line of people in running shoes, hands poised on grocery carts in front of them. Each cart had a kid seated in it.

  As I kept watching, a familiar face appeared smiling on the screen, explaining rules to what were apparently contestants. “Ain’t that Charlie, from Pot Liquor?”

  “Yeah man,” Dean confirmed. “This shit is hilarious. They kept it all under wraps somehow, then dropped all the episodes on WAWG. It’s called Don’t Touch Nothing, and these folks racing with the kids in the cart, getting the stuff on the list as the kids read it off. Funny as shit, bruh.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What’s funny about grocery shopping?”

  “You just gotta see it,” Dean insisted. “I can’t explain it.”

  I broke my gaze from the TV, shaking my head. “I’ll have to catch it another time – gotta hit the shower.”

  “But you haven’t been out slutting it up on a weekday, okay.”

  “If you must know, I walked a coworker home last night after closing. The weather got bad, so I crashed on the couch over there. Is that an appropriate situation to wash my ass now, or nah?”

  Dean shrugged, and laughed. “I got no skin in the game since I was just fucking with you, but now I know you were into some shit. Talking about you walked a coworker home. Nigga, I know everybody around this motherfucker, talking about coworker. Being all secretive and shit, I see what you’re doing.”

  “Ain’t no secret, man, chill.”

  “Nah, I’m putting my detective hat on now, you came through with a mystery and shit,” Dean insisted, pausing the TV. “You always got a little story or something from the shop, and they’re damn near always about Anika’s fine ass, who ain’t checking for you. But I know it was a woman, cause you ain’t walking niggas home.” He cupped his hand in his chin, really thinking about this shit as I crossed my arms. I’d known Dean since high school, and he’d always been nosy as fuck, just like now. “You’re trying to be a lil’ manager, so I know you’re not hitting any of the baristas or servers – and you also wouldn’t have stayed at their place. I just… know. So. My deduction is that you’re trying to deflect… cause you finally smashed Anika.”

  My eyes went wide. “Man, what? Where the hell you get that from?!”

  “I don’t hear a denial, so as far as I’m concerned…”

  “I did not smash Anika.”

  He grinned. “But you did spend the night at her house, though. Thanks for confirming.”

  “Nigga, go back to Don’t Ask For Nothing and out of my business!”

  “It’s Don’t Touch Nothing!” he called after me as I headed down the hall to my room. Living with a roommate – especially my annoying ass homeboy – wasn’t my ideal, but the money it allowed me to save certainly was.

  The possibility of me opening an Urban Grind wasn’t only dependent on me convincing Roman I was a reliable manager. It required an investment too, which I was responsible for. My corporate marketing gig had been good to me financially, just hell on my mental health. Because of that, I had decent savings put aside, explicitly earmarked for my investment.
r />   I still had to live in the meantime.

  Luckily for me, my long-term-temporary position at Urban Grind was actually paid, giving me the means to take care of myself until I was able to move on. Ideally, I’d be able to open in Connecticut, near where the Kings played, getting in among the other popular businesses. I was a Blakewood grad, giving me alumni connections I hoped I could call on to get the space and all that.

  But… everything in steps.

  I couldn’t rush this – I had to take it on in small bites to keep the stress low and help ensure the success of the whole endeavor.

  I needed this.

  I couldn’t fuck it up.

  I spent longer than necessary in the shower decompressing and then climbed into my bed. As far as sleeping on couches went, Anika’s had been good enough, but it was still a couch, which meant it hadn’t been the ideal for actually getting real rest.

  And of course… my mind lingered on Anika.

  I didn’t think I was pressed about her, but according to Dean, I’d been talking about her all the time. But… it wasn’t like I’d spent my whole time in the Heights like a hermit. I’d definitely indulged my share of single women around here, while not taking the plunge on anything serious. It seemed like women were getting more comfortable making it clear they just wanted the dick, and I… wasn’t complaining.

  I wasn’t overboard with it though, I didn’t think. So in all my wonderings about what Anika’s issue was with me, I never gave too much headspace to the idea that my dating habits might be the problem.

  Unless she was making assumptions, which… it was Anika.

  So… yeah, she was probably making assumptions.

  It was entirely likely that she had me pegged – or thought she did – from the moment we met, and had taken whatever narrative she painted into all our interactions since.

  And my incessant need to get on her nerves probably didn’t help.

  That was probably the thing that needed exploring – not her issue with me, but mine with her. Why did I get such a kick out of making her mad?

  Because she ignores your ass otherwise, my subconscious kicked in, with an immediate, correct answer. And that was really the issue, wasn’t it? Women paid attention to me. They flirted, they fawned, they were, at least, friendly.

  But not Anika.

  So I had to get attention from her somehow.

  “Damn,” I muttered to myself, turning onto my back and propping my hands behind my head. I’d never really thought through the shit before, I just… gave her my natural reactions. Now that I was thinking about it, though, I kinda felt like a bad ass kid or something.

  I should probably stop.

  Yeah.

  I probably should.

  But… what would be the fun in that?

  Those lights aren’t supposed to be on, I thought to myself as I passed by Urban Grind.

  It had become something like a little game for me, looking around the coffeehouse to figure out what was wrong or out of place. I either corrected it before Anika noticed, or planted myself somewhere close enough to see her reaction when she did.

  Now though, I simply peered through the big front windows of the closed shop. Of course we didn’t leave it pitch black at night, but I could see from here that some of the back and stage lighting were still on – it was just a couple of switches to flip on your way out, which made them easy to forget.

  But Anika was the one closing tonight, and forgetful wasn’t usually her thing.

  Usually.

  When she wasn’t working through a hangover.

  Shit.

  I was exhausted already, having spent a good chunk of the day watching my nieces and nephews so Roman and Simone could have a breather and do some Christmas shopping, then spending another chunk with Dean at the studio. He was a producer, working almost solely from the basement studio at Grown Folks Music, and you never knew what artist, big or small, might be dropping by.

  I could spend hours on hours just watching the creation of music, from scratch to finish, and today… I had.

  Just this one last thing, and I could take my ass to bed – I had to open the shop tomorrow. Well… in a few hours, actually.

  I headed around to the back, keys in hand, to let myself in through the back entrance. I’d barely closed the door behind me when I realized there was music going, but not like the stuff we streamed to create the background ambiance.

  Nah… this was the keyboard.

  As I made my way to the front, the music shifted – an effortless transition into a different song. Familiar, but not enough that I immediately placed it. Not until she started singing.

  I stepped into view of the stage right as Anika settled into the first verse of Beyoncé’s Love Drought. She had herself slanted so that her back was mostly turned to what would have been the crowd as she tackled the verse in a flawless, breathy alto. I was already impressed, and then she moved into the pre-chorus and chorus, not hitting a single discordant note on the keyboard as she shifted into a clear soprano.

  I knew she played, but damn.

  I had no idea she could sing like that.

  My continued path toward the stage must’ve caught her attention because she didn’t start the second verse. Her fingers kept moving over the keys, but her mouth remained closed, eyebrows narrowed in frustration.

  “What do want, Royal? Why are you here?” she asked, turning back to the keyboard.

  “Well, I came in because I saw the lights were on, but it’s almost one in the morning. I was going to just turn them off real quick, but then I heard the music and the singing. I had no idea you were a siren, Anika. Using your beautiful music to lure people in and then dash them on the rocks.”

  Finally, her fingers stopped moving, and she turned to glare at me. “But obviously you saw they were on for a reason, and yet… you still came to bother me.”

  “I wasn’t coming to bother you – I was coming to admire you.” By this point, I’d made it to the stage, standing at the base of the steps that led up to where she was. “But you stopped playing.”

  She shrugged, turning her attention back to the glossy keys, but not pressing one. “I don’t perform for an audience.”

  I started up the steps. “Don’t consider me an audience then – maybe a duet partner. Come on, start playing again; let me catch the music.”

  Her gaze shot back to me, features pulled into a frown. “This music?”

  “Yeah, why not?” I asked, taking a seat beside her. “Let's do it.”

  “Let’s? As in… me and you?”

  “Duh. Play it.”

  She cut her eyes at me, probably because of the “duh,” but she did at least start playing. Instead of getting right back to the exact part where she’d been before, she went back to the hook, playing her way into the verse. Her eyes widened in apparent surprise when I started singing – she definitely hadn’t expected me to know the words.

  But, I sang them directly to her, making her blush as her fingers glided across the keys. Of course I was singing in a lower pitch than what Beyoncé or Anika had, but I committed to that one falsetto note at the top of the verse, then came back down for the pre-chorus. Anika had a full-blown grin by the time I reached the end of it, and burst out laughing when I changed the last line.

  “Ya’ old niggas so wack, I’m so tough. Whassup?”

  Instead of giving me any more of a response than that little giggle, Anika shook her head, then actually sang the chorus with me, creating a harmony that had me ready to take her down to Dean at GFM.

  “So,” she said, once she’d brought the music to a close. “I guess musical talent just runs in the family, huh? Roman, Noble, now you?”

  I grinned. “Well, technically, I would be before Noble since I’m the older brother, but yeah… I guess you could say that.”

  “Interesting.”

  My eyebrows went up. “Interesting? That’s all I get? No elaboration?”

  “This is already more than I
care to talk to you, so…”

  “I asked you twice in the song to tell me what I’ve done wrong,” I countered, pulling a fresh grin to her lips. She shook her head, though.

  “I am not doing this with you, Royal.”

  “Doing what?” I asked. She started to stand up, but I caught her hands, urging her back to a seat as I hooked one leg over the bench to turn so I was facing her. “I thought we were having a moment here.”

  She huffed. “Which is precisely the problem. I don’t need to be having “moments” with you.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Everything,” she insisted.

  I shook my head. “You know… I don’t think you really believe that. I think it’s what you want to believe, but not the reality.”

  “And what do you think the reality is?”

  I slid toward her on the bench. “That you want me – want this – bad as hell. But because of whatever narrative you’ve painted about me in your head, you can’t just give in to the natural flow, and give yourself what you want.”

  She scoffed. “Give myself what I want. Meaning… you?”

  “Yep. Call it self-care.”

  “Oh please,” she laughed. “Boy, if you don’t get out of my damn face!”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Cause in your face is exactly where you want – and expect – me to be. This is out dynamic, Anika, this is what you’re used to. Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t feel some kinda way if I just… stopped.”

  “Stopped what?”

  “Fucking with you,” I replied. “Teasing you. Getting on your damn nerves. You’d miss it if I just suddenly got off your back. Tell me I’m lying!”

  She twisted to face me, determination set in her face. “Royal Taylor, I would absolutely… I… do you really think I enjoy your constant irritation?” she asked, giving the conversation a little shift, probably hoping I wouldn’t notice that she hadn’t been able to force that lie out of her mouth.

  “I do think that deep down, you enjoy it,” I answered. “But… I think I know something you’d enjoy even more than trying to make yourself hate me.”