The A/C hums low, rattling against the quiet. Outside, the yard is still except for the occasional rustle of palm leaves. Inside, the small bed is a tangle of sheets and the faint smell of cologne and her perfume.
Tameka’s head rests on Mick’s chest, fingers idly tracing the dog tag chain around his neck. She’s smiling, voice soft.
“You remember when you used to run around with Rico and them?” she says. “Every weekend, looking for trouble.”
Mick chuckles. “We weren’t lookin’ for it. It was just… there.”
“Uh-huh,” she teases, lifting her head to look at him. “You was always the smart one, though. Didn’t matter if you was broke or outta school—everybody knew you was too smart to be out there for real.”
“That right?”
“I told Rochelle back then—you gon’ be something one day. Didn’t know what, but… something. And look at you now.” She taps his chest. “A whole Navy man.”
He smiles at that, but it’s a quiet, closed smile.
“You even talk different,” she says. “Carry yourself different. Like you been places nobody from here ever gonna see.”
“Been a few places,” he says, voice calm.
She studies him for a moment, pride and distance mixing in her eyes. “Guess we both grew up.”
“Yeah,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. “Some more than others.”
She laughs lightly, not catching the edge in it. “I knew you’d get somewhere.”
Mick doesn’t answer right away. In his head, he’s thinking about the course he’s on, how it doesn’t slow down for anyone. How she was supposed to be on board, but somewhere along the way she stopped paddling. He’s just been waiting to see if she’d jump ship.
Tameka settles back into the crook of his arm, content. She thinks the night went well, that she still knows him. She doesn’t see that, to Mick, she’s already in the rearview.
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