“Wash all these.” She grabs a knife, using it to wave me closer. “Watch me now. You gotta take the leaves off the stalk just like this.”
She demonstrates, cutting the leaves away and discarding the center stalk while I stare at the massive pile of greens.
“And then I get to cook them?” I ask tentatively.
“No, baby. You ain’t graduated to cooking yet. Today your lane is just washing.” She heads for the door without looking back. “Stay in your lane. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Let me go check on this grill—you know Amir is out here grilling these links, and ain’t no telling what he’s messing up.”
She blows out of the kitchen as swiftly as she blew into it, and in her wake, I stand clutching the knife in one hand and a bushel of greens in the other. I really wanted to cook, but sense that she’s testing me. I’ve never met a test I couldn’t pass, and this one— though I don’t fully comprehend the point of it—will be no different.
While Jade continues texting, laughing under her breath intermittently, I set myself to methodically washing and cutting. The muted sounds of laughter and conversation from the living room along with the shouts of men playing dominoes in the backyard settle my nerves. I’m here, but not here. Nothing is expected of me for a few minutes. It gives me time to collect myself, and maybe that’s what Ms. James wanted to happen. Maybe she saw past my serene façade to the uncertain girl floundering inside and knew I needed a few minutes alone.
Well, alone with Jade, who wears a huge grin and keeps texting as if I’m not in the room. I clear my throat to remind her I’m here and ready to be her friend. I’m an idiot. I should be glad she’s not castigating me or looking at me like I’m pocket lint, but instead I’m drawing her attention. Why? Because though she’s a bitch, Grip loves her. I know he wants her in his life, which means she’ll have to be in my life, and I’ll have to be i
n hers.
Thus, the trying so hard.
“Someone special?” I ask, looking up from the greens with what I hope is a natural smile.
Jade’s answer is a cocked brow and dead eyes. “Huh?” she asks, voice flat. “What’d you say to me?”
“Um . . . I just saw you texting and smiling and thought maybe . . . there’s a guy or—”
“I don’t do dick.”
My hands freeze under the stream of cold water. I can’t keep my foot out of my mouth around this girl. Did Grip tell me she was a lesbian and I forgot?
“Oh, that’s fine.” I shrug and keep smiling. “I mean, I’m fine with that.”
“Glad I have your permission to fuck who I want.” She rolls her eyes like I’m stupid, and I feel stupid most of the time when I’m talking to her. I know people. I get people, I figure them out. It’s part of my job to understand and charm them and, well, it sounds bad, but use them to get what I need for my artists. But, I can’t understand Jade, and I sure as hell can’t charm her.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Jade. I just find myself grinning like an idiot when I’m texting Grip and thought—”
“So now I’m an idiot?”
I toss a leaf into the sink, frustration making my movements jerky.
“Would you stop picking apart everything I say?” I draw a calming breath in through my nose and push it out through my mouth. “I’m trying to make conversation, that’s all.”
The slow, sweet smile that slides onto Jade’s face is incongruous and should be my first clue that she’s up to tearing me apart.
“Okay. Let’s make conversation, Bristol.” She straightens from the counter and crosses over to stand beside me. “Since you all in my grill and up in my business, I’ll tell you who I’m texting.”
She pauses, eyes riveted to my face for my response. I school my features and won’t give her one.
“It’s Qwest.”
That name should not give me heartburn, but every time I hear it, it’s like a lit cigarette behind my ribs. Maybe it was seeing Qwest with Grip all those weeks and knowing he was fucking her, fearing that she was fucking his feelings for me right out and I would be left lonely and still in love with him. Maybe it was Black Twitter rallying behind her and turning on me, painting her as the victim and me as the villain. I don’t know why I feel this way when I hear Qwest’s name, but she is my sore spot, and Jade knows it. She’s twisting her knuckle into a bruise on my heart, and even though I was prepared, I know my face doesn’t hide it.
“Oh, I didn’t know you and Qwest were together.” I laugh, trying to make a joke of it . . . a bad, awkward joke, which is the only kind I can seem to manage with Jade.
“Oh, no. Not me and Qwest. She loves dick.” Cruelty engraves a smile onto Jade’s smooth, pretty brown face. “Just ask Grip. He knows.”
These are the cleanest greens anyone will ever eat. I’m scrubbing this one leaf mercilessly, almost to the point of translucence, training my eyes on the sink so Jade doesn’t gain any ammunition from the hurt I know she would see. All I want is to be this girl’s friend, and she can’t tolerate five minutes with me. She’s carrying on an entire conversation with Qwest while I’m standing right here trying harder than I’ve ever tried with anyone.
“I meant that I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” I mumble.
“We didn’t really, until recently. I’m writing some stuff for her new album.” Her pause fills with anticipation of something I know will be at my expense. “Grip introduced us a few weeks ago.”