“I don’t know what to make of your body language, baby,” Genevieve said. “I certainly didn’t like how you treated me on the phone. I’m hungry, but I want to get to the bottom of your attitude. What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Kiana said.
“Bullshit,” Genevieve said. She leaned forward and adjusted herself on the stool, her breasts jiggling against her fitted T-shirt. The baby blue shirt, a determined UNC ram strutting across the front, made her look sporty and energetic.
Kiana shrugged. “So, what’s good here?” she asked. She looked around the place. A long line snaked from the register and metallic counter where hungry patrons pointed at food steaming in stainless steel troughs. She caught sight of the chalkboard over the grills but couldn’t make out anything on it. She glanced around at other people’s plates and the trays steadied on the shoulders of dashing servers.
“Everything,” Genevieve said. “But you don’t get to eat until you tell me what the hell is going on. Why wouldn’t you take my calls? Why ignore me? I’m the one who should be mad at you, baby. Your joke the other night? Not. Funny.” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms.
“I’m sorry about that,” Kiana said. Genevieve was cute when she was mad. Her dark, smoldering honey eyes and perfect eyebrows, challenge and irritation dancing at the corners of her full mouth. She smelled good. Clean cucumber and sharp mint, something floral, too, but it wrestled with the smell of ham, gravy, and shrimp in the restaurant. Kiana felt her thoughts wandering, the hefty shot and beers she’d had keeping her from settling on any one thing too heavily. “It really was just a joke. I was out of order though. I’m sorry.”
Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even know why I care.”
Kiana balked. “I don’t know why either,” she said, standing up. “This was a bad idea. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. This long ass line. You’re from here and you bring me to this tourist trap.” She looked around the restaurant. A server whizzed by with a tray holding two shrimp po’ boys and a bowl of gumbo, a neat serving of rice accenting the deep brown stew inside. Kiana stepped aside.
“Wait.” Genevieve scooted forward on the stool and rested her hands on her knees. “What am I missing?”
“I saw you with your girlfriend,” Kiana said. She stuffed her hands in her pockets.
“What?” Genevieve looked up at Kiana. “What are you talking about? Here, sit down,” Genevieve said. She smacked the vinyl seat.
Kiana glanced around the restaurant and down at the empty seat beside Genevieve. She sighed, shrugged, and sat down slowly, her body feeling loose.
“You acted all offended about my joke when you were really just feeling guilty,” Kiana said. “You got caught up and needed to make a mad dash before you did something you would regret in the morning.”
Genevieve screwed up her face and ran a hand through her curls.
“I saw the two of you together. I came by to apologize and saw you making out with some Sasquatch ass motorcycle dyke with Sisqo hair.”
Genevieve burst into laughter. She laughed so hard her face flushed with a deep pink that rose from her cheeks and engulfed her nose. She doubled over, gasping.
“What the fuck’s so funny?” Kiana said. She looked around, annoyed. People stared at her and Genevieve, simple smiles and wide eyes.
Genevieve finally caught enough breath to speak. “Oh Lawd! Baby! You say you saw me and—” She chuckled some more.
“I saw you and your super stud motorcycle gang girlfriend making out in your garden! Shit, the more I think about it, you owe me an apology.” Kiana folded her arms across her chest.
Genevieve stopped laughing. “What?”
“I said, you owe me an apology.”
“How you figure that?”
Kiana sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. Her face flushed with heat.
Genevieve reached and placed her hand on Kiana’s forearm. “How you figure that?”
Kiana swallowed hard. “You’ve been so nice to me. Almost like you’ve been looking out for me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were…I don’t know…liking me a little bit.”
Genevieve took her bottom lip between her teeth and looked away. She returned her hand to her lap. She turned to Kiana. “Honestly? I was, but you’re here for something else. For someone else.”
“But let’s say I wasn’t. What if I was here for you? To meet you?” Kiana spun on the stool, facing the window, dozens of framed pictures crowding around the panes. She flicked at the blinds. Sunlight fought its way into the restaurant. Stripes of light warming the Formica and glinting off the stainless steel detail of the counters, tables, and chairs. “You said you don’t believe in coincidences.”
Genevieve bowed her head and took a deep breath. Kiana didn’t know what to make of the gesture. She waited for her to speak, to lift her eyes.
“Taz isn’t my girlfriend,” Genevieve said.
“Taz?” Kiana chuckled.
“Yeah,” Genevieve said. “She isn’t my girlfriend. I don’t know what you saw, but we weren’t making out. Trust me, baby.”
“Whatever. It don’t really matter anyway.” Kiana looked over her shoulder at food line, trying once again to make out the options on the chalkboard menu.
“Taz is my sponsor,” Genevieve said. “And you’re right. It doesn’t matter.”
“Sponsor?” Kiana looked at Genevieve. Her whiskey from earlier rumbled in her stomach. Suddenly self-conscious, she placed a hand on her abdomen to settle her stomach. Not drinking was one thing; being in Alcoholics Anonymous was another. She pulled at the collar of her black T-shirt.
“Sponsor.” Genevieve’s eyes meeting Kiana’s dead-on.
“I’m…” Kiana paused, unsure of what to say, unsure she should even say anything. Apologies came second nature to her, but she couldn’t be certain what she was sorry about in that moment. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” Genevieve said. She stood. “These last few days have been difficult for me, baby.”
“I’m sorry,” Kiana said.
“What are you apologizing for?” Genevieve said.
Kiana hesitated. “I don’t know. The joke? Drinking around you? I don’t know. I’m confused.” Her stomach griped, a ball of nausea with an ache in the center. “There’s always so much to apologize for.”
“Yeah, you right.” Genevieve sighed. She put her hands on her small hips. “Your joke wasn’t my biggest problem, Kiana. It was me. I felt myself losing control. I can’t let that happen.” She turned to survey the line, which despite its constant movement, never seemed to shorten.
“I don’t know what to say,” Kiana said. She joined Genevieve as she walked toward the food line.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
Kiana took a place in line behind Genevieve who moved to file in behind a small family of three, two teenage girls with long brown hair and braces who were yanking on their father’s arms and squealing about crawfish étouffée and red beans.
“Maybe we shouldn’t spend any more time together,” Kiana said. She held her breath. She didn’t want Genevieve to agree though she knew it might be best.
“I thought about that,” Genevieve said. “Taz thinks I should forget I ever found you that night.”
“You didn’t ‘find’ me,” Kiana said taking in air then blowing it loud and slow.
“Whatever, baby,” Genevieve said, rolling her eyes. “She thinks you’re bad for me.”
The line inched forward. The smells that weaved between the bodies in the dining room did more than waft beneath their noses now that Kiana and Genevieve were nearly face-to-face with the cooking stations. The heavy aroma of gravy, roast beef, baked ham, shrimp, and sausage grabbed them about the face, hooking their nostrils and pulling them closer and closer to grills, ovens, and steaming piles of rice, beans, and okra.
“What do you think?” Kiana said. Finally able to read the menu, her eyes latche
d on to the Ferdi Special. A cook held a plate with a two French bread halves topped only with lettuce and began preparing one right in front of her. He covered the bed of crispy green with steaming ham and juicy beef, gravy dripping from each pinch of meat. He put the tops on the sandwich and passed the plate to another cook who scooped red beans into a small Styrofoam cup and placed it on the plate beside the overflowing sandwich.
“I already told you,” Genevieve said. She too watched the cooks prepare plates of food. “I don’t believe in coincidences, baby.” She shot a glance over her shoulder and gave Kiana a small smile.
Kiana went silent. Her stomach hurt, and the ache had nothing to do with hunger pangs. She touched her lips and remembered Michelle’s kiss. The all-too familiar softness, the full-bodied sweetness that used to be all she ever needed. She wanted it still. She needed it still. She watched Genevieve, who spoke with one of the cooks as if they were old friends. Her beauty effortless, her spirit open and inviting. She had been jealous when she saw her with the stud woman; she had fought the urge to kick the woman’s motorcycle over, fantasized about it clanging against the cement. She dismissed those feelings rather quickly. She moved on to what she knew, what was familiar, what made sense. Michelle. With the kiss, she had a chance to complete her mission. She could reclaim what was hers and make everything right again.
Kiana ordered the Ferdi Special after Genevieve placed her order for a shrimp po’ boy and a side of red beans. They made their way over to the counter and sat on two stools a few seats down from where they were originally. They waited for their food in silence. Kiana fiddled with the bottles on the counter in front of her, hot sauce, ketchup, and peppers. She moved them about like a three card monte, wanting to say something but not willing to take the risk of saying the wrong thing.
“I don’t understand you, Kiana.” Genevieve rested her elbow on the counter. “I want to, but I can’t. Maybe I’m intrigued by the challenge.”
Kiana found a peeling corner on the hot sauce label. She flicked it with her index finger.
“I don’t know why we ran into each other. And that night in the Quarter—” Genevieve stopped. “Never mind.”
“Don’t wrack your brain on it, Genevieve,” Kiana said. “Most times, I don’t understand myself.” Kiana shrugged. She looked around, searched the menu and the tables. Sweet tea and lemonade, soda and water. Her eyes scanned each table, each tray. Two women, picking off each other’s plates and giggling, ignored their nearly full glasses of wine. A woman and man at another table, silently chewing and staring over each other’s shoulders, each picked up their beers at the same time and shared a smile at the synchronized movement.
“I’m going to order a beer,” Kiana said. She slid off her stool and left Genevieve behind, and as she made a beeline for the register in hopes of placing a quick drink order, she felt Genevieve’s soulful eyes on her, reaching and following, demanding and pushing. Sweat tickled her skin, and a warmth washed over her. She swallowed and clenched her fists. A small group of women huddled at the cash register smiled and chuckled as Kiana charmed her way in front of them, ordering her beer and commenting on how exciting it was to be in New Orleans for the first time. The women, all from Wisconsin, cracked jokes about beer being a lunchtime staple, maybe even worthy of its own food group. Kiana laughed with them before wishing them a pleasant rest of their visit.
She made her way back to the counter, her sandwich waiting for her, and sat on the stool. Genevieve eyed her beer as she set it down then picked around on her shrimp po’ boy. She forked a tender piece of shrimp and brought it to her mouth slowly.
“What?” Kiana said. “I’m sorry, but I was dying over here. Is this okay?”
“You’re fine,” Genevieve said.
Kiana sipped her beer, licking frothy suds from her top lip. The buzz of her previous shots had warmed her, and she needed to cool down. The beer would do just that. She knew she was being insensitive, but she reminded herself of her dinner with Genevieve when she had brought her own wine. Alcohol was Genevieve’s struggle, not hers. She had everything under control.
Genevieve ate more shrimp. Kiana picked up her fork and went to work with her sandwich. It was so heavy with gravy, she didn’t dare pick it up. She tasted the beef, swiping at the gravy and debris, bits of meat mixed into the gravy, which spilled onto the plate.
“I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach,” she said.
“Might be an understatement, baby,” Genevieve said.
“What you mean by that?” Kiana said before plucking a piece of baked ham from her sandwich and placing it on her tongue.
“Be honest with me for once, Kiana. Be honest with yourself,” Genevieve said. She ate another piece of shrimp and grabbed the hot sauce. “There is a reason you came to meet me for lunch. And it wasn’t just to throw my sponsor in my face.”
“I thought it was your girlfriend,” Kiana said. She drank from her beer.
“She wasn’t. She isn’t. But what difference does it make?”
Kiana sighed. The beer was good, heady and full in her mouth, though it wasn’t quite strong enough to deal with the type of conversation Genevieve attempted between bites of shrimp and red beans.
“I don’t know,” Kiana said with a shrug. But she did know. She was no stranger to the feelings that skittered around in her chest when she saw Genevieve with that other woman. Jealousy. Anxiety. Anger. Doubt. Uncertainty. As she ran through the list of feelings, she saw them, burned into her chest, each letter on fire. A brand. She felt them all the time. They never went away, never subsided. Maybe Genevieve wasn’t even the point. She drank her beer and imagined dousing the blazing words with the cool, amber liquid. Sizzle. Smoke. When it clears, everything is fine.
“You can’t have it both ways, baby,” Genevieve said.
“I know,” Kiana said. She started to say more but drank from her beer instead. She stared at her food. She picked at the meat with her fingers, brought a pinch of ham and beef to her lips, then stopped.
“I don’t want it both ways,” she said, returning the meat to her plate. “Most of the time, if I really, really think about it, I don’t know what the hell I want.” She took a deep breath, the act of telling the truth making her feel small, afraid even. “Take you, for example. You’re beautiful. You’re smart and sexy and—” She stopped. “I like you. I know I do. I hated seeing you with that woman. I wanted to make love to you in my hotel room that night.”
Genevieve smiled and looked away. She nodded and exhaled loudly while reaching for her glass of water. She drank from it, silent but watching Kiana all the while. Her light eyes encouraged Kiana, the way the light that crept through the blinds reflected something like hope and trust, love and understanding.
“Then I think about Michelle, her wedding, and what I think I want or thought I wanted.” Kiana stopped. She pinched at the meat of her po’ boy again.
“Maybe you need to just step back from everything,” Genevieve said. She picked up her paper napkin, and wiped her mouth. “Me, Michelle, all of it, baby. Just take some time for yourself. Figure your own shit out before you even start thinking about your feelings for Michelle or…your feelings for me.” She smirked a little and shook her head.
“What? Why’d you smile like that?” Kiana placed the thick pinch of ham and beef into her mouth. She closed her lips around her fingers slowly, sucking the gravy with bits of debris from her fingertips. She chewed and reached for her beer.
“It’s just these deep conversations about feelings and everything,” Genevieve said. “You’d think our hearts been dancing around each other for years. My heart ain’t danced in a good while, baby, and I’m not sure I can catch your beat.”
Kiana smiled. The poetry with which Genevieve spoke struck her every time. She sipped at her beer and ate more of her sandwich. There was far more of it than she could dream of finishing, and between the hearty helping of meat, bread, and gravy, the fullness of the beer, she felt stuffed, her stoma
ch tight. She looked over at Genevieve, who despite her thin, athletic figure, continued to munch enthusiastically at her shrimp po’ boy, staring at her plate as if deep in thought. Kiana wanted her to continue. She needed to hear more poetry. Perhaps there would be answers in Genevieve’s stanzas; maybe her lyrics could unlock the secrets Kiana seemed to subconsciously hide from herself.
“Genevieve,” Kiana said. She pushed her plate away then wrapped her fingers around her nearly empty glass of beer. She focused on the liquid inside. The sparse suds hugging the edges of the beer. She met Genevieve’s eyes, the dark amber of them as cool, as smooth, as intoxicating as the beer she held in her hands.
“Yes?” Genevieve said.
“Thank you,” Kiana said. She didn’t feel drunk, but she knew she wasn’t exactly sober. She turned to face the counter. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she had actually been sober. She couldn’t recall. She’d been drinking every day. Every single day for as long as she could remember. She opened her eyes and clutched her glass.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Genevieve said. She placed her hand on Kiana’s thigh. “Just think about what’s happening. Think about what has happened and what has yet to happen. They all work together, baby.”
“What works together?” Kiana frowned, her eyes fixated on her beer.
“Past, present, and future,” Genevieve said. “It’s like a combination lock. The numbers, that’s what we know. The past. We can know it. But it don’t mean nothing if we don’t do something with them, if we don’t spin them numbers in the right order. But when we do, baby, everything opens up for us.” She squeezed Kiana’s thigh.
“A combination lock, huh?” Kiana said. “That’s a good one.”
“One of my nana’s favorite metaphors,” Genevieve said.
Kiana shook her head and picked up her beer. She looked down at Genevieve’s hand, and instead of desire, something else grabbed her. The feeling of hands. A hand on a shoulder. A leg. Soothing circles in the center of her back. She thought of Karyn’s hands. Long fingers. Creased knuckles. Veins crisscrossing along the top.
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