Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
There is no response for a few moments, and I can almost see her pretty face wrinkled in consternation while she figures out the perfect way to word her response. She’s always careful, measured. Vashti and I are natured a lot alike. Maybe that’s why we work.
Vashti: Okay. I understand. Get some rest and see you tomorrow.
Not convinced I won’t regret that moment of nobility, I pat my leg again to Otis. He looks up at the view of the porch on-screen and bares his teeth, ears perked, lean body tensed, protective instinct on high alert when he sees a stranger touching someone he deems his.
“Dude, I get it,” I say, my laugh slightly bitter when I open the back door. “But we gotta go.”
And refusing to look at the tableau on the porch even one more second, I finally do.
Chapter Nineteen
Yasmen
Can’t put this off any longer.”
I stand outside Josiah’s closed office door, the scents and sounds from the kitchen bringing some measure of comfort. Grits became a haunted house once I lost Henry here on the floor alone in the dark, but before that night, this place was my second home. Finally, it’s starting to feel that way again.
Drawing a deep breath, I brace to see Josiah this morning. We’ve been avoiding each other the last few weeks. Ever since his sleepover with Vashti. Ever since my date with Mark. Besides the occasional passing in the hall here at Grits, we’ve barely been in the same room lately. Even at soccer matches, we haven’t stood on the sidelines together. If we didn’t have a meeting with our business manager this morning, I’d be at home working on holiday projects for the Skyland Association, steering clear of the man on the other side of this door.
I knock and wait for Josiah’s deep baritone telling me to enter. He sits behind his desk, eyes trained on the laptop in front of him. He doesn’t look up, but keeps typing. The silence persists, stretches to awkwardness, so I drop into one of the armchairs in the center of the room along with a sofa and coffee table, and set my purse on the floor.
“Harvey’s on his way,” he says, still not looking away from the screen. “His last meeting ran a few minutes over, but he’ll be here soon.”
“Oh. Sure. Great.”
I run damp palms over my legs, the jeans smooth and cool beneath my hands. Fidgety and looking for something to do, I tighten my topknot. I got box braids last weekend because I was tired of messing with my hair. This morning they’re studded with a few gold cuffs scattered throughout the strands.
All in all, I feel pretty. And confident, and I won’t be shook by the pissy mood Josiah seems to have saved just for me. Finally, he closes the laptop and walks over to the sitting area. I study my nails, taking my turn to ignore him.
“I like the braids.”
Surprised, I glance up to find him sitting on the arm of the leather sofa across from me. I didn’t expect him to say anything personal. Definitely not about my appearance. When I meet his eyes, they’re cool like they’ve been for weeks, and his face remains unreadable.
“Thanks.” I scour my mind for something else to say. Gone are the days when I couldn’t get the words out to him fast enough. We’d watch couples eating dinner in absolute silence and promise each other that would never be us.
“Um, did you see Deja’s report card?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He frowns. “I can’t believe she got a C in English.”
“It used to be her best subject. It’s not just the grade itself, but I worry she’s spending too much time on social media.”
“I think she’ll find the balance without us having to come down hard. Your relationship with her is already strained enough and—”
“Strained?” I ask, my voice dropping to a quiet warning.
“You’ve said that yourself, Yas.” He crosses his stupid muscular arms across his stupid broad chest. “Let’s not fight over how we need to handle things with Day. Have you given any more thought to Kassim playing football?”
“You mean since I said never when you asked last time? No. Besides, he has soccer.”
“He really wants to play football too.”
“A kid can really want a lot of things that aren’t good for him, like literally ramming his brain into a brick wall over and over again and risking his life, his mind, for what? A game? With all that’s come out about CTE, I just don’t think it’s worth the risk. Lots of parents aren’t doing football anymore.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? I played football. Preach played. Theo’s playing.”
“I love Preach, but him letting Theo play doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. What he and Liz decide for their kids has no bearing on what we decide for ours. Kassim has barely mentioned football to me.”