Warren: A novella

by Xyla Turner

  When I entered the diner, all eyes turned to me and at first, I wasn't sure why but apparently, I was interrupting a situation.

  “Knox, we got guest now go on head and sober up.” A tall bulky man said to a handsome, but mangled looking cowboy.

  “She left me,” the drunk man slurred. His eyes swung to me and then he repeated, “she fucking left.”

  “Knox”, the man who I assumed was the owner despite the name being a woman. “Come on man.”

  “Fuck, I'm going.” He replied but he kept his eyes on me.

  At first, he looked upset, like he was about to cuss me out but then he smiled and said, “Welcome. Coming to break another man’s heart.”

  “Ignore him, suga.” A smaller lady came up to usher me inside. “He lost a love again and we’re all just hoping he recovers.”

  She smiled at me and said, “You must be new around here. Come on in and have a look-see.”

  What happened?

  My landlord was right, the food was amazing, so I decided I would make this a weekly stop.

  The next day, I found my way to the Timms farm, where they had fresh vegetables, fruit, and Can-It items there. Nobody was at the front of the barn, so I waited for ten minutes and nobody showed up. I saw a cowbell, so in a spurt of hot as hell Iowa irritation, I started ringing it nonstop, until a sun-kissed man appeared from the inside of the barn and with a phone to his ear.

  “A second!” he yelled with matching irritation.

  He was having an argument on the phone with someone that sounded like his significant other. After five more minutes of the baking heat on my brown but about to be crispy skin, I yelled back, “I've been waiting for seventy-two thousand seconds. It's hot.”

  “Hold your fucking horses,” he snapped back and that was when the DMV started to surface.

  That is the abbreviation for D.C, Maryland and Virginia.

  “I don't have any fucking horses.” I hissed back in complete annoyance.

  It was then that I saw an older man come from the house, marching towards me. At that point, I had put everything down on the table because I was going to take my business elsewhere.

  “Can I help ya?” The older man asked as I shook my head in the negative. “Mills, get your head out of your ass. We have a goddamn customer.”

  Yeah, that was my cue.

  “Ma’am,” the older man called as I turned and headed back towards my place.

  “I'm good. No need to spend my money where I'm not treated with respect.” I called back and kept going.

  There was more cursing but it was from the older man to his insolent son, I assumed but that was none of my business. I called an Uber again and went back to my original restaurant and tried something completely different. That was delicious too, so I figured I might have to revise my schedule and come twice a week.

  Later that evening, I was unpacking all of the pictures that I brought over. The goal was to make the space my own and since the landlord basically said he didn't care what I did as long as I didn't burn the place down, I decided to make the space cute. The fellowship was for two years and that could fly by or be the longest twenty-four months ever.

  A hard knock on the door, startled me. Who the hell could that be?

  Peeping out the window, I saw a four-wheeler on my grass which made me open the door with more force than I knew I had.

  “Hey, why are you parked on my grass?” I snapped.

  The hulking figure looked down on me, which caused me to take a step back. It was the jerk from earlier. This time unnoticed those smoldering green eyes, his chiseled face structure and those full lips. His blond cropped hair didn't help but instead of appreciating him, I stared at him and asked again.

  “Why is your thing,” I pointed to his mode of transportation, “on my grass?”

  “Lady, it's just grass. What's your deal?” He was looking at me like I had four heads.

  I glared at him and instead of answering the question I said, “Why are you here?”

  He sighed and said, “Looks like we’re neighbors and we got started off on the wrong foot earlier. I'm Mills. My pops and I run the farm and the store.” He held out his hand for me to shake.

  At first, I stood and watched him to see if I could sense a flicker of him being disingenuous. When I saw none, I held out my hand to meet his but he turned my arm over and looked at my wrist.

  “That's pretty hot,” his eyes were on my tattoo.

  It was of a black heartbeat over a thin raised line on my wrist. His eyes met mine and understanding seemed to dawn on him. Slowly, I pulled my hand out of his and he let me but those green eyes lingered on mine.

  “No,” I cut off the connection and said, “We got started off on the right foot. You're an unprofessional jerk and I wouldn't patronage your store or products if it's the last thing I do.”

  I took a step back and reiterated again. “Now, get that thing off my grass. I rent this place.”

  The man looked more amused than put in his place. Well, that was until I slammed the door in his face.

  I continued with my previous task before I was so rudely interrupted and pulled out more paintings. They featured one of the biggest and greatest cities. Not just in America but places like Dubai at night or China in black and white. There was even one of Paris and France. Then there were the Afrocentric women carrying their load or their babies wrapped around their backs. Some women were dancing while others were merely holding on to a briefcase, breaking glass ceilings. Those were my reminders; my life and my burdens.

  A knock came on the door which caused me to groan. What did this nincumput want?

  “Yes,” I snapped.

  With a smirk still on his face, the man said nothing but held out a paper bag that looked pretty heavy.

  “Yes,” I repeated.

  “My pops wanted you to have this. He’ll have my hide if I come back with it. You can dislike me for my rudeness but don't take that out on my pop.” He said with all genuineness and sincerity.

  “So, let me get this right?” My hand found my hip. “You're saying that you were completely rude and I need to accept this peace offering because you're an asshole and I shouldn't take this out on your pops that raised this asshole?”

  The smirk was gone but something else stepped in its place.

  Intrigue?

  “Well, yeah.”

  He ran his hand through his short-cropped hair with a slight breath.

  “I'll pass.” Those were my final words on the matter and then I once again closed my door.

  A growl could be heard through the thick wooden door but I kept doing what I had to do. There was another knock a minute later but I didn't answer. A few minutes later, I heard him drive away and that was the end of that.

  Well, I wished it was.

  Chapter 2

  Mills

  Being the youngest was not ideal but being the one closest to Dad had its perks. Well, not when he was still trying to slap me upside the back of my head for fucking up. He was right but Rebecca and I had been fighting for a while now. I don't even know why but we’d been at each other's throats for little to nothing. Shit like, I forgot to call or I didn't notice her haircut. She kept talking about marriage and shit I hadn't even got to yet in my life. One of my brothers was engaged to be married and the other one was lovesick over a woman. I had been in a relationship with the same woman for seven years. We'd talked about the marriage thing, even looked at houses but I never felt compelled to do anything about the next steps. We weren't there.

  Up until recently, I could only see myself with her but now I started to see Miller Timms without her. What I really wanted to do, how I wanted to do it and she was no longer in the equation. I think she subconsciously knew this and that was why we were constantly fighting all the time. If I had to be honest, I think she felt the same way.

  Today, she and I were arguing because I planned to go on a trip without including her. Therefore, she mentioned the trigger word for me,
and I had to remind her about who she was talking to.

  This did not have me in a good mood, needless to say, when a customer came I was snapping. Most people knew us and were a lot more patient but that ringing of the bell and all that shit with the woman yelling in my ear, pissed me off more.

  When the woman walked away, I was relieved even though I knew Pops would lose his fucking mind.

  Which he did.

  Hence why I was over the woman's house who slammed the door in my face twice. The shit pissed me off but there was something cute about her.

  I left but I knew that would not be the last of her. I'd make sure of it.

  The next day, I was actually sitting in the barn’s open windows so any customers that did come, I was available and ready. Pop didn't have to threaten to kick my ass, even though he did. He was right. The man had always talked about people first and in this case, the customer was always first and right.

  It was about ten o’clock in the morning when I saw a familiar figure come trotting over the hill that separated our land from others. The woman, whose name I didn't catch, she lived on a small patch of land, owned by Russell Stone. The man had been a long friend of Pops and he usually made his income from renters, even in Libby.

  “There you go,” I heard her not so small voice.

  It was a sound that a man could come to love but her tone, well, she was not happy.

  She walked over with the bags that I left in her chest on the porch. Any sort of food that coyotes or other animals could smell and steal was not ideal.

  Once she reached the wooden table we used to weigh, inspect and ring up, the woman dumped the contents of the bag on the table and glared at me.

  “When I say I don't want to patronize anything from you, I mean just that.” A sharp hiss came from her mouth. “Not even charity, a gift or dropping food on my porch. Are we clear?”

  Leaving the food that she originally wanted was Pops idea because his thing was always, right your wrongs. Tripling the food, she wanted was my idea because I figured she was new in town and needed some extra things, so she wasn't spending all her money at the grocery store. I had heard there was a new stranger in town that Knox had insulted during one of his drunken rages against women. The funny part about that was that folks thought I might have known the woman because she was black and JD’s fiancée, Tess and her best friend, Nina. I guess Libby was that small of a town to know that any new face, probably a black woman, had something to do with the Timms. Sadly enough, Rebecca said we were progressive because everyone wasn't so open to races mixing. Implying she wasn't as progressive.

  That shit downright pissed me off because she was someone I'd known, dated and loved for years. How did I not see that side of her? Mills thought she treated Tess different and though I wasn't willing to admit it at the time to him, I knew it, the minute it happened. I called her on that shit. Rebecca tried to act like it was an honest mistake but it was a blaring red flag for me.

  “No, we’re not clear.” I hopped over the bottom half of the barn door.

  It wasn't an aggressive move but it could have been. This woman didn't flinch.

  “Your name?” I asked.

  “No need for you to know.” She countered. “Now are we clear?”

  “We’re not.” I folded my arms over my chest. “We wronged you and we’ll make it right.”

  One of her perfectly arched eyebrows, rose before she hissed back, “No, you wronged me.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “I did. Now, the question is are you going to get over it?”

  “Get over it?” She scoffed.

  Well, if I thought she would stay and argue, I was wrong. The woman turned on her heels and started to walk away.

  “You can leave,” I called, “but I'll only be there again tonight with more stuff that we think you might need. Also, the next night and the next night and the next. Hell, I can keep this up for as long as you're here. You’re in one of those college programs, aren't ya?” My arms stayed folded. “What's that two years?”

  The curvy thing huffed and I remained in place.

  “Are you one of those?” Her back remained to me.

  “One of what?” I laughed.

  “Those folks that don't seem to understand the word no. That type.” Annoyance clearly in her voice.

  “Oh, I'm a Timms, lady.” I informed her. “I understand the word no, just fine. Now do I abide by it. Well, that's something different.”

  It seemed to me as if she was talking or negotiating with herself. Then she quickly turned around and marched back over to me, gathered the bags, put everything she dumped out, back into the bag and asked with a huff, “Is that it? Will you leave me alone now?”

  “Need a name.” I replied.

  “Nadine.” She held out her hand, palm up, as if to ask if there was anything else.

  “I need a meal.” I found myself saying.

  Those narrowed eyes hit mine before she asked, “What?”

  What was wrong with my mouth?

  “Going to need you to cook me a meal.”

  I kept going. It was too late to back down at that point.

  “I'm not cooking you a damn meal!” Nadine hissed with wide eyes. “Are you mad?”

  “Listen, darling. Your call. You want me to stop and not harass you for two years. Make a man a meal. As a matter of fact, make two men a meal. My Pops reputation will be restored.”

  Her head was shaking as if she could not believe that was happening. I could have sworn she muttered, ‘if he had you, his reputation would forever be destroyed.’

  “You're mad.” She repeated.

  “What say you, ma’am?” I asked with one challenging eyebrow.

  “Fine.” She snatched the bag in front of her and said, “I'll cook a meal.”

  Nadine began to walk off and I called behind her, “Cook here tomorrow and we eat at six.”

  The curvy shape of the saucy woman swayed in the sun and the contrast of her making any skin and the grass green sundress made the walk away scene just perfect. What made it funny was her middle finger going up as she made an exit.

  ****

  “Pops, that woman from over the hill is coming to cook us dinner tomorrow.” I called when I heard pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen.

  “Oh yeah.” He hollered from the other room. “She any good? Don't eat everyone's cooking.”

  Shit if I knew how good she was, I just wanted to be around her.

  “Don't know.” I admitted.

  “What? Is Rebecca coming?” He asked.

  “No,” I answered quickly.

  Pops poked his head out the kitchen doorway and asked, “Urr, something I need to know about?”

  Huh?

  “No.”

  “You invited a gal over here to cook dinner for you and your pops. You don't know if she can cook or not. And your own girlfriend of umpteen years is not invited.” One of his greyish eyebrows raised. “What I miss?”

  Well, when he put it like that, it seemed like something was amiss.

  “It's nothing Pop. Not trying to hear Becca's voice. That's my right.” I clarified.

  “Yeah, son.” He moved outside of the room, so I could see his whole body. “Not saying it ain't your right. Just be careful with the line. That uh, Oprah lady. She says, people can cheat emotionally. Don't ever have to get naked and bang, they cheated. Don't want you to have that sort of situation.”

  I could have acted like I didn't know what he was talking about but I knew and deep down; somewhere I couldn't reach. I didn't care.

  “Not looking to have any situation, Pops. Just…She's cooking dinner for us. It ain't me alone.”

  Pops lips turned down and he held sucked in air.

  “Yeah, well. Can't say you weren't told.”

  Then he walked back into the kitchen and went back to banging pots and pans. I went over to my house next to the main house with the nagging feeling that Pops words would haunt me but instead I turned off my phone
and played a game of World of Warcraft on my Play Station.

  The next morning, I woke up with a burst of energy. It stemmed from anticipation and I knew it. What I didn't know was Rebecca would decide to make her rounds to start her shit. Right after the lunch hour, since she worked at the law firm in town as the legal assistant. She had started college a few years ago but dropped out after she failed her biology class. My major was in agriculture and biology; however, she wanted no help from me. On a drunken day, she jokingly admitted that I intimidated her intellectually. At the time, I didn't push it but I never forgot the statement because it made sense as we began to argue over minute things.

  Around one o’clock, Rebecca's small, red Ford pickup turned kicked up dust around the barn and it was almost as if her hair was burning red, which matched her face. The woman was hot and for the life of me, I could have cared less.

  “Miller,” her voice snapped. “Miller!”

  She called me that when she was on one. There was no need to respond since she was standing in front of me.

  “Rebecca,” I responded in a bored tone.

  “I haven't heard from you in God knows when. No return on my calls and after our last discussion, when you hung up on me.” Her voice lowered. “What's your deal.”

  Granted, the past year, the two of us had been fighting what felt like nonstop. Therefore, my simple life was becoming complicated and my patience was thin.

  “I'm tired, Becca.” I made a point to look into her eyes. “I'm tired of the fussing, arguing and it's all the fucking time. No one knows why but I'm tired.”

  This caused her to gasp, and the wind in those sails quickly deflated.

  “What are you saying?” She said in a low voice.

  “I'm saying, I'm tired,” I repeated.

  Her eyes met mine.

  “You don't want to be with me?” She asked. “We've been working at this for a long time, Mills. I mean, by God, we should be married by now. You don't just throw what we gave away like a holy sock. Every couple goes through rough patches in their life. We’ll weather the storm.”

  It wasn't clear why she set me off but it did. I hopped over the half door and hissed, “what would our marriage look like now. You think being married fixes anything? Having kids going to fix that. What do we have Becca? I ask this all the time and you never have an answer but it's your solution to the problem. We’re not kids anymore and adding legal and permanent bags to an already broken fence is foolish at best and asinine at worst.”