Page 37 of The Key To His Soul
“Not you mad ‘cause she want you to relax and enjoy the festivities this time around,” Milz teased me.
“I ain’t mad. Shut up.”
Grandma Lettie had gave specific instructions that I was just to show up at the family cookout and enjoy it like everyone else. I wasn’t allowed to even shop for set up. Even though I knew she had good intentions, I still wanted to put my little touch on the celebration.
“Anyway, let’s put a pin in what we have so far and come back to it on Sunday. I’ma head home.”
“Okay, boo. And thank you so much. Ain’t nothing like a Key production.” We stood, and she hugged me around my neck.
“I’m glad you know.”
Walking to the door, she held it open for me and leaned against it. “You sure you wouldn’t consider the poly thing?” she asked, genuine curiosity written all over her face.
“Positive. And you know me, Milz. A nigga gon’ have to get wit’ my program before I ever adjust to his.” I winked and headed out.
I made it to my car, and my phone chimed as I slid into the seat. Pulling it from my purse, I glanced down at it to see a text from Mehki confirming my attendance for the cookout.
B.D.E: What’s good, fine ass girl? Just reaching out to confirm for tomorrow.
Smiling, I replied with a voice note, letting him know I’d be there and asked if I could bring a plus one.
B.D.E: As long as you ain’t tryna renege on being my partner, that’s cool.
Me: Lol. Nah. I’m still team you, partner.
B.D.E: I like the sound of that.
“I just bet you do,” I said aloud, pulling out of the lot.
Me converting to the poly life wasn’t in the cards. Mehki converting to the Key life, highly likely.
CHAPTER 8
Partners
MEHKI
Being in Julissa’s art room always brought about a sense of peace and was money well spent. When I moved her into the brownstone I’d rented, her only request was that I made sure she had a room dedicated to creating, a space where she could make the most imperfect things beautiful. For Julissa, it was not only her therapy, but she’d taken her passion for creating and made it a lucrative business.
“Baby,” Julissa called to me.
“Hm?” I replied without looking up, too focused on the clay on my hands and the masterpiece I was making. We were doing pottery.
“I think your bowl is leaning,” she teased.
“That’s ‘cause you not looking at it through your normal lens, bae. You looking through thatI just got fucked real goodlens. It’s your lazy eye that’s throwing you off.”
“Boy,” she giggled, “it’s leaning because your hands aren’t steady.”
I looked down at the bowl, and she was damn sure right, but I couldn’t admit to it.
“Girl, this bowl got character.”
She bust out laughing. “Yeah, and we gon’ keep it right on the shelf amongst your other pieces that have character.”
“Ohhh, so you put my shit up there ‘cause you don’t think it’s good enough to sell. I see how it is now.”
“Awww,” she expressed lovingly, getting up from her stool and wrapping her arms around my neck, careful not to drip clay on my chest. “I love your pieces. I leave them up there for me. Mine is next to yours. They’re my trophies.”
