“I appreciate the offer but you live too far. She can’t miss any more school.”
Tremaine rubbed his goatee. “Right, I forgot about school. I’ll stay with y’all, then. I’ll pick up some more clothes on my way home from work tomorrow. Okay?”
He seemed to enjoy playing the hero. She enjoyed letting him. “Okay.”
They made it back to her house and Tremaine got right to work installing the two cameras. It all seemed very technical to Gianna, who had tuned out when the Home Depot employee was explaining the process to Tremaine. He seemed to know what he was doing.
She got dinner started and let her mind wander. Dr. Ansley’s admonition—no caffeine or alcohol—echoed in her head but how bad could it really be? Gianna poured herself half a glass of Rosé and allowed the elixir to take the edge off. Fear still coursed through her veins but it was slightly more tolerable now.
She stirred the sauce and rolled her eyes at the pot. She hated cooking. Hated. It. It was stressful and labor intensive, what with all those pots and pans boiling at the same time and trying to time the veggies so they’re ready at the same time as the starch and the meat. And there’s also the bread. It goes into the oven all by itself and is easily forgettable because nobody really gives a shit about bread unless it’s missing, and then they’re all like “do we have any bread?” even though they know they’re only gonna butter it and then tear off a small piece. Fuck them, fuck dinner, fuck the bread, fuck it all.
“Dinner’s ready!” she announced.
She and Kaya ate together—Tremaine was still outside working—and then she got to work washing dishes. Kaya retreated upstairs to finish her homework.
Tremaine walked back into the kitchen, sweaty and tired. “Alright, I did it,” he said, proud and triumphant.
“Already?” Gianna asked. “I made you a plate. It should still be warm.”
He washed his hands and sat at the table. “What’d you make?”
She set the plate down and removed the foil. It was beautiful. Chicken scampi over white rice, asparagus, and slices of hot, crusty baguette with herb oil for dipping. Tremaine stared at the plate and then at Gianna. “You made this?”
She frowned. “Why, you didn’t know I could cook? It’s just chicken.”
He took a bite and nodded. “This is good as hell. Nah, I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
“I’m a G.R.I.T.S. girl. Cooking is part of my culture. Unfortunately.”
He chewed quickly and swallowed. “I wanna be a member. Can I join? Sign me up.” Gianna laughed and handed him a glass of Coke. The two continued their business in silence, him eating and her washing dishes, and something about it felt comforting to Gianna. It felt...normal. And that was very disturbing.
“ALRIGHT, HOW DO WE do this?” Tremaine asked, his eyes on the kitchen sink, his tone skeptical. “Are you gonna bend over?”
“I’m gonna have to lie on the counter,” Gianna said.
Tremaine eyed the counter and then Gianna. “I swear I mean this in the most complimentary way, but...can you fit up there?”
Gianna stifled a laugh. “That’s rude. Yes, I can fit up there. Watch.” She had asked Tremaine to do her the favor of washing her hair. She knew he wouldn’t say no. Not on a full stomach.
Tremaine smiled as she hopped up onto the countertop in one smooth motion. “Okay, I stand corrected. What do you need me to do?”
“Just wash it without getting shampoo on my stitches. It shouldn’t be hard if I lay on my left side.” She handed him her shampoo.
He sniffed it. “This smells good.”
“Yeah, it has shea butter and honey in it. Alright, do you know what to do?”
“Yeah.”
“Whatever you do, don’t let the shampoo touch my stitches.”
“Gianna. I got you.” He rolled up his sleeves to the elbow and turned the water on. Gianna turned onto her left side, a move that made her feel self-conscious, as her entire back side was now on display. She got over it quickly, however. Let him look.
“How hot do you want it?” he asked.
“Hot, but not too hot.”
“Thanks, that clears things up.”
“Shut up.” He began wetting her hair with the sprayer. “You can go a few notches hotter.”
The wet warmth crawled down her scalp and Tremaine’s fingers followed, gently rubbing and massaging in soothing circles. Gianna wondered if he had done this before. His touch was gentle and tender. She found herself relaxing and getting sleepy. It was heavenly.
“Damn girl, you got a lot of hair. What are you gonna do with it after this?”
“I’m getting it braided tomorrow.”
“Alright, it’s wet. Do I lather it now?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Okay, just checking,” he said with a laugh. The aroma of shampoo wafted through the air and she felt his fingertips caress her scalp again. She closed her eyes and relished the sensation. For her, a scalp massage was almost as good as sex.
Justin used to wash her hair all the time and it always led to lovemaking. A man’s hands in her hair was so intimate, so sensual, that it struck Gianna as part of a natural progression toward the bedroom. But at that moment, she found herself fighting that urge with Tremaine. He was like a brother, after all.
“Damn, G. These stitches. I didn’t know it was this bad.”
She opened her eyes. “I know. I can barely stand to look at them.”
“I’m so sorry. Do they hurt?”
“Not anymore. They just itch occasionally.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he seemed to mean it.
He did another lather and rinse and then gently wrapped a towel around Gianna’s head before helping her off the counter. She felt lightheaded and stumbled as soon as her feet hit the floor. He placed a firm hand on her back and guided her to the couch. “Sit here. Tell me what you need and I’ll grab it for you.”
“My leave-in conditioner, comb, and blowdryer. They’re all on the counter in my bathroom.”
He secured the items as directed and she removed the towel so she could apply the leave-in.
“Nah, what are you doing? I told you I got you. Just tell me what to do.”
“Are you sure?”
“What did I say?” he asked, sounding like somebody’s fed up father.
“Okay, you need to put the conditioner in. Like, a quarter size amount for each section, and then—”
“Wait, how many sections?”
“About six. And then I need you to detangle it with the comb. Start from the bottom and then work your way to the roots. And then blowdry each section. On low, because I’m not flat ironing it after.”
Tremaine chuckled. “That’ll be easy. I do this all the time.”
“You do?”
“No. But I’m ‘bout to go in. I’mma be better than your hairdresser. Just watch.”
It took him a lot longer than it had ever taken Gianna but Tremaine finally got her dry and braided up in a little under three hours. By that point, she was nodding off so she called it a night.
Once again, she felt it important to impress upon him how grateful she was for his company. He responded with his common refrain. “It’s the least I can do. Justin was like my brother. Y’all are family, that’s the bottom line. I would do this for my sisters and that’s what you are to me. It’s not a problem.”
“You think of me like a sister?” Gianna asked, annoyed at the prospect but not sure why.
He wrapped the cord around the blowdryer and handed it to her. “In some ways, yeah. I’ve known you...shit, how long have we known each other?”
“Didn’t we meet at a barbecue?”
“You know what, yeah. When Perry graduated from high school. We were spades partners.”
“That’s right. I can’t believe I remembered that.”
“Well you obviously remember the most important parts of your life,” he said, winking for good measure. Gianna was surprised when she felt a s
light flutter in her stomach.
“You have been important to me. To us, especially recently.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” He smiled, his dimples flashing.
“Goodnight, Tre.”
“Goodnight, G.”
She walked down the hall toward her bedroom, telling herself to turn off the feelings she was experiencing. No good could come of it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
APRIL ARRIVED AT 8 am sharp. She was a rarity among the hairdressers Gianna had tried over the years. The stylists in the salon would typically sashay their asses in about 30 minutes after the appointment time and still have the nerve to make you wait. And then, of course, they loved to leave folks under the dryer, dying of heat stroke and dehydration, just so they could tend to another client. The braiders, particularly the ones who worked out of their homes, would eat French fries and fuss at their kids and sometimes even run errands during what was supposed to be the appointment time. Gianna was sick of it.
April was different. She was professional, for one thing, but she also valued people’s time. She was a breath of fresh air, and Gianna didn’t mind paying top dollar for her services. She was so service-oriented that she offered to make a house call so that Gianna could be comfortable.
“Do you know what you want?” she asked.
“Whatever’s easiest. I just don’t wanna have to think about hair right now.”
“Alright, no worries. I’ll do Senegalese twists.” April was a former stripper—one of Magic City’s finest—who had saved up enough cash to purchase her own salon. Rumor had it that she had a wealthy white sugar daddy funding the venture but Gianna never believed that. She had known April since high school. She’d always been super thick with a tiny waist. All natural. With her body, it didn’t make sense to do anything else. The minute she turned 18, she was dancing. It wasn’t a stretch to believe she’d made enough money to fund a business.
“Thank you for making the trip out here,” Gianna said.
“Anything for you. Did you wash the hair first?”
“Yes.”
“Okay good,” she said as she set about separating the bundles into manageable sections.
“Do you think you can cover up the stitches? I don’t wanna have to deal with the kids when I start back to work. You know how they are. Assholes.”
“When are you going back?”
“Maybe next week.”
“Alright well covering up the stitches shouldn’t be a problem. You can either do a ponytail or a middle part with the right side covering that area. Easy.”
“Okay, good. Sounds good.”
“Say, how did you get it washed and blown out without irritating the wound?”
“Oh, a friend of mine did it for me.”
“Another stylist? You aren’t cheating on me, are you?” April asked with a smile.
“No, it was this guy I know.”
“With all this hair, I’d say you got you a real one.”
“Yeah,” Gianna said, smiling to herself. “He is.”
IT HAD TAKEN THREE tries but Gianna finally got Sherrod on the phone. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but she was surprised that he didn’t sound angry or menacing. He mostly seemed amused. She asked him to meet her at Merrick’s, a trendy little out-of-the-way spot in Decatur. She wanted to be surrounded by a crowd.
He showed up at 7 on the dot, and she cracked her knuckles under the table as he approached. He sat down without a word and she took a deep breath.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
He looked around. “I’ve never eaten here. How’s the food?” Sherrod was from the Bronx. His voice sounded like Timberlands and chopped cheese sandwiches.
“It’s good, from what I remember.”
His eyes narrowed. “What you remember, huh? So this amnesia thing, that’s for real?”
“Apparently.”
He laughed. “Yo, that shit is wild. When Dr. Grant told us about that I thought he was exaggerating. I thought that kinda shit only happens on soap operas.”
My life is a soap opera, she thought bitterly. “Nope, it’s real.”
He looked her up and down. “You look good. Got your hair done, looking all healthy and shit.”
“Thanks.”
“So what’s up? I’m not even supposed to be here, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, so about that...what happened between us?”
He smirked and she wondered what she ever saw in him. He wasn’t ugly but he wasn’t her usual type. She chalked it up to proximity and scarcity. You see someone for eight hours a day every day for six years and sometimes they start to look like something, especially if there aren’t many other men around.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember anything about me,” he said.
“What do you want me to say? It’s not my fault. All I’m asking is for you to help me understand what happened between us and what you did to make me file a restraining order against you.”
The table next to them exploded with laughter. Somebody’s drunk uncle was making a fool of himself.
“First off, I didn’t do shit to you. We dated. We had sex. A lot. It was good. And then you switched up on me. It’s that simple.”
“Why did I break up with you? Did I wanna give my marriage another chance?” she asked, hopeful and naive.
He chuckled. “Nah. You wasn’t feeling Justin at all.”
She didn’t like the way he said her husband’s name. Or that he said it at all. Despite the circumstances, and the irony, she found it disrespectful. “So why, then?”
He shrugged. “You didn’t say. You came at me juelzing and copping pleas and shit but I got the feeling there was somebody else.”
Gianna blinked several times. “Somebody else?”
“Yep.”
“Other than you?”
“Yep.”
“Other than my husband?”
“Yep.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe that.”
The waiter interrupted with their waters and promised to give them more time. Gianna needed it.
“Why don’t you believe it?” Sherrod asked, still smirking.
“Why did I need a restraining order against you?”
“You didn’t. You was on some bullshit.”
“Meaning...?”
He laughed. “Meaning you was on some bullshit. I didn’t let you get away with manipulating me and you hated that shit. And honestly, Gianna, just being real...I really wasn’t even pressed like that about having a relationship with you. I was dating other women when I was messing with you. I just didn’t like the way you did shit. You were so grimy with it.”
“So you didn’t slash my tires?”
Sherrod shrugged. “But I ain’t touch you, though.”
“That’s something crazy people do.”
“It’s whatever, man. Between the two of us, you way grimier.”
Gianna frowned and wished he would stop talking in code. “Can you give me an example or something?”
“Nah, I’m done with all that. Let’s just say you want everything to be your way and you can’t stand when people challenge that. I was too much of a challenge for you.”
“I’m completely lost on what you’re trying to say,” she said.
“And that’s how I’mma leave you. I want you to know how that shit feels.”
He stood and she grabbed his arm. “Wait. Have the police talked to you?”
“Not yet.”
She tried not to let him hear how scared she was. “When they do, what are you gonna say?”
“You scared?”
“No, I just—”
“You wanna get our stories straight.”
She nodded. His face softened. “Gianna, I cared about you once. Maybe even love. Fuck, I don’t know. But if I’m being real, I don’t think you was playing with a full deck.”
“So I’m crazy now?”
“Nah, you just...you’re a lot. That
’s the nicest way I can say it. Have a good one.”
“Hold on. Have you sent me anything recently? Like a letter or a note?”
“Nah, I ain’t got nothing for you, Shorty.”
“Wait...please, just tell me what happened.”
A smile spread slowly across Sherrod’s face. “You let me fuck one more time and I’ll tell you anything you wanna know.”
Heat flushed her face. “Bye.”
“Yeah.”
Sherrod’s smirk stayed with her long after he was gone, and by the time she got home, Gianna had far more questions than answers. His hostility toward her certainly seemed to suggest hard feelings, but what had he meant by his statements to her? Not playing with a full deck? What the hell did that even mean?
Tremaine called as she was pulling into the garage. “Hey, should I pick up some food on the way?”
“If you don’t mind.”
He said he didn’t mind.
As soon as she hung up, she jogged up the stairs and into her master bathroom. The familiar buzzing of the overhead lights filled her ears. She turned the extra bulb lights on and grabbed her lip gloss, blush, and mascara from her makeup bag.
“CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING?”
Tremaine set his drink on the kitchen table. “What’s up?”
Kaya was upstairs, Gianna was knee deep in Chardonnay, and she was in the mood to be nosy. “Why aren’t you married?”
His mouth curled into a smile, although he tried his best to hide it. “That’s a good question.”
She waited but he said nothing. “Are you gonna answer it?”
He laughed. “I don’t know. I guess I just haven’t found the right one.”
Gianna frowned. “That’s bullshit. All these women, beautiful women, in Atlanta and y’all stay talking about finding the right one. How about pick one and commit. It’s not that difficult.”
“See, that what you just said? That’s the problem. There are too many women. It’s like going to a buffet and everything looks delicious. It’s an embarrassment of riches.”
“Uh huh. So basically you wanna be a hoe and do hoe things.”
Tremaine laughed. “That’s harsh but...yeah, I guess. But believe it or not, I’ve never been the player type. Girls didn’t really start paying attention to me until after college.”
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