Page 108 of Certified To Handle You 2

Renza ate without talkin’ much. Every once in a while, he made a low sound like the food was hittin’, and I caught myself smilin’ into my glass. Cookin’ for him felt normal in a way that made me nervous. It was too easy to slip back into things we used to do and start actin’ like nothin’ had changed.

When he finished, he carried the plate in the kitchen himself. I heard water run while he rinsed it, then he walked into the living room dryin’ his hands on a napkin.

“That shit was good,” he told me as he sat beside me.

I looked over at him. “Thank you.”

He leaned back against the couch and spread one arm across the cushion behind me. Even without touchin’ me, his presence filled up the space. Renza had always known how tosit somewhere and make it feel like the whole room had shifted around him.

His eyes moved toward my wineglass. “How many of them you had?”

“This my third. I had a long day.”

“I know,” he replied. “You feel better now?”

I lowered the glass and looked at him. The way he asked made it clear he remembered everything I told him earlier.

“A lot better,” I answered honestly. “I think I just needed to get inside and stop movin’ for a minute.”

“You needed to eat too,” he said. “You eat?”

“I tasted the food while I cooked.”

“That ain’t eatin’.”

“I’ll fix me a plate later.”

He looked at me like he knew I probably wouldn’t, but he didn’t push it.

“You always did too much for niggas,” Renza told me. “But you worse now because you got more shit for people to call you about.”

“It ain’t like I can ignore my businesses.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about business,” he replied. “I’m talkin’ about everybody who know you gon’ handle they shit before you handle yours.”

I rested my head against the couch and looked toward him. “I don’t know how to just let people struggle when I can help.”

“That ain’t the same as bein’ responsible for ‘em,” he said. “Yo’ sister grown. Yo’ family grown. Them employees grown too. You keep doin’ everything for everybody, then wonder why nobody know how to do shit without you.”

I started to argue, but nothing came out because he wasn’t wrong.

“I feel guilty when I say no,” I admitted.

Renza turned his head toward me. “Why?”

“Because I got it,” I answered. “If somebody need money and I got enough to help, I feel wrong keepin’ it while they strugglin’. If my grandma need somebody to take her somewhere and I can do it, I feel like I’m supposed to go.”

“You can help without runnin’ yo’self in the ground,” he replied. “And just ‘cause you got money don’t mean everybody around you supposed to keep spendin’ it.”

I looked down at my glass. “You make it sound easy.”

“It is easy,” he replied. “Say no.”

I laughed a little and looked back at him. “That’s easy for you because you don’t care if people mad.”

“I care,” Renza corrected me. “I just don’t care enough to fuck myself over behind it.”

That made me laugh harder because it sounded exactly like him.