“I knew you were going to say that. I knew you were going to try and stop me, and there’s no way I’m letting you.”
“Ashe …”
His hand moved to my cheek, his thumb swiping my bottom lip. “How much would you normally spend on dinner and books for Gran’s birthday?”
Since I bought items I typically wouldn’t—like steak and twice-baked potatoes with cheese and sour cream, fresh vegetables instead of canned, and the pudding—it exceeded my average food budget. I’d planned on getting her some white wine as well—now that I was old enough to buy it.
“Probably around fifty, maybe sixty.”
“Take that money and go get her nails done instead. Wouldn’t she love that? Someone to rub her hands and make her feel beautiful for the day?”
I didn’t know if Gran had ever gotten a manicure. I couldn’t remember a time that I’d ever seen them painted. I trimmed them for her, her hands no longer able to grip the small clippers. I even cut her hair, keeping it in a short bob that only required me to scissor straight across.
“Ashe …” I shook my head, torn. It wasn’t his responsibility to feed all of us on Gran’s birthday.
“Please, Pearl.” He kissed my lips. “This is something I really want to do.” He framed my face with his palms. “You take Gran to the salon and give me the address, and that’s where I’ll pick you up and take you girls to dinner.” He leaned in closer, his lips inches from mine. “I just need you to say yes.”
There was a knot in the back of my throat. A burning as I tried to fight away the tears. “Yes.”
He kissed me again, soft, like a whisper. “Tonight is going to be perfect, just you wait and see.”
Less than twelve hours later, every word he had promised came true.
Gran sat with us at a small, square table, several candles lit between us in the middle, the dim lighting in the restaurant showing the flicker of fire across her face. One that had been grinning since I’d returned to our apartment this morning and told her I was taking her out. At the salon, she had gotten a cut and a blowout, a style much sleeker and more defined than I was capable of creating. Short light-pink nails sparkled from her hands, which had been massaged in lotion.
Ashe had chosen a steak house in his section of the city. Many of the cuts of meat I’d never even heard of before. I picked the one that had the smallest amount of ounces, Gran getting the same, and Ashe ordered several sides since they didn’t come with our meals.
Gran sipped her white wine through a straw, looking so tiny in the big, round leather chair. “This is the nicest restaurant I’ve ever been to.”
The same was true for me, of course, but I said nothing, not wanting to take this moment away from her.
She reached across the tablecloth, her eyes lit with love as she rested her fragile fingers on Ashe’s arm. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you.”
He curled his fingers around hers, smiling back. “Having you here with me on a day that’s so special is more than enough.”
I knew it had only been six months. I knew we had some heavy decisions to make next year after we graduated. I knew many things could happen before and after that. But the way he looked at the woman who was the only mother I’d ever had—with admiration and protectiveness in his eyes—was something I would never forget.
“The only thing I wish for each year is for my dollface to be happy.” She continued to gaze at Ashe. “You’ve made that wish come true.”
She turned toward me, her smile even brighter, tears welling in her eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Gran wasn’t one to ever get weepy; she was the strongest woman I knew. “I love you more than anything in this world, baby.”
Ashe’s fingers were squeezing mine under the table.
A feeling filled me that I’d never felt before.
Never in my entire life.
Contentment.
“I love you,” I whispered to both of them, my voice not able to go any louder or I was positive the tears would drip.
Thirty-Eight
Kerry
I couldn’t take my eyes off the plate.
It sat on the stairs, the smell reaching all the way over to my bed.
Where I was lying.
The dress was off and, “Good girl,” was being growled in my ear.
I didn’t listen to him.
I didn’t feel his presence.
I was a pit of emptiness.
Filled by him but solely focused on the plate.
All I could smell was the meat.
Hearty, rich, savory, like pot roast. Small wisps of steam rose into the air. Bland-colored carrots, softened but still erect, stood from the center.
My stomach grumbled.
The side of my face was shoved into the dewy-smelling mattress, blocking half my vision.
I still stared, not blinking.
The potential of a full belly was the only thing keeping me from breaking.
The warmth.
Comfort.
Suddenly, the pain halted.
There was a chugging of air.
Like a train putting on its brakes.
His weight was then gone.
He released the back of my head, my face lifting from the mattress like a suction cup.
The sound of metal, a loud cough, feet moving across the gritty cement, and then, “Do you think you’ve earned yourself a meal?”
I pulled my bare legs against my chest, wrapping my arms around them.
The clothes I had taken off to dress in white were close by, but I wasn’t allowed to put those on yet.
There were rules.
I dragged my eyes away from the plate, meeting his emotionless black pits.
He liked to play this game.
Make me question if I was deserving enough.
Make me fear if he was going to leave the food since there had been times when he took it with him.
I nodded.
“Use your voice, Kerry.”
My throat stung as my lips parted, sucking in air and pushing it through my chest—a pathway that had been clogged from not speaking for so long.
It had been at least a period and two nail-bitings since I’d uttered anything above a whisper.
“Yes.” My spit was thick, and I cleared my throat. “I’ve been the best.”
He laughed.
His glasses fell halfway down his nose, his gobbler wiggling as though it were saying hello.
“You’re so fucking greedy.” He rolled up his sleeves, showing dark hair that curled. “You’re nothing but a disappointment.”
My body began to shake as he grabbed the wide-strapped white dress off the floor and walked over to the stairs.
I held my breath as he went up the first five and stood over the plate.
He glared down at it.
Then at me.
“Should I spill it on the floor and make you eat it that way?”
I shook my head.
Silently begging.
“Do better, Kerry.”
How?
I didn’t fight.
I didn’t tell him no.
His lips stretched across his teeth. “Do fucking better.”
He glanced back at the plate.
The tears were building, my hands clenching.
He began to bend, like he was going to lift it, but stopped.