Page 50 of Saint
“Ugh.” My frustration manifested in the form of a groan. With my elbows affixed to the desk, I planted my head in my hands. I was exhausted and hungry, but going home seemed so selfish. Especially when I considered how much time we had left. A handful of seamstresses were busting their asses to get things a few projects done this evening.
Three raps against my door caused my head to shift in its direction. My lack of visual coordination revealed that I’d dozed off in the exact position I’d settled in. My stiff elbow joints confirmed the offense.
“Yes?” I called out to the soul on the opposite side of the door. “Come in.” Whomever it was could enter. There were only a handful of us in the building.
“Hey.” The gruff baritone issued the greeting, energizing me out of my lethargic position. As I moved my arms, my elbow joints popped in protest.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I smiled and stood as Saint entered the office looking all edible in cargo shorts, Nike slides with socks, and a plain white tee. It was the classic fuck nigga fit, but my husband was far from that.
“I got home, and you weren’t there. Sam informed me he was still at Demure. I picked up something on the way since you seemed to be pulling an all-nighter.”
“I’m not staying all night,” I confessed, wrapping my arms around him and inhaling the subtle smell of coconut, musk, and sandalwood. “I just wanted to pull my share of the weight.”
“Sounds like you need to throw that shit around and go home when your body demands rest, boss lady.”
“I know. I know. What’s in the bag, though?”
Smirking, Saint extracted himself from my grasp and cleared my desk of the papers scattered about. Once he made a clutter-free space, he began unloading the bag’s contents. Hibachi fried rice and vegetables were for me. He’d ordered steak with his portions. Everything smelled like heaven, but as he laid out all the food across the desk, my desire to be at home grew in propensity.
“I don’t know how you work in all this confusion, woman. This shit would run me crazy,” he fussed, glancing around the office at the disarray.
“This was a really sweet gesture, babe.” Ignoring his complaints, I gazed at the food scattered on my desk.
“But…” He froze, waiting for me to rupture the bubble he was on.
“I want to go home and eat in comfort. Then I want a shower, and then I just want to cuddle with you until I fall asleep. I’m tired. I don’t want to spend another minute here.”
“Then why didn’t you bring ya ass home, Beauty? I could have saved the trip.”
“I fell asleep. Your knocks woke me up.”
“Okay. Help me pack all this stuff up so we can get you home.”
Finally home and true to form, I peeled myself out of the chiffon dress I’d been in all day, removed the satin headband from my head, stepped out of the strappy heels, and headed straight for the shower. Had it not been for Saint bringing my plate of food up to the bedroom, I would have happily crashed on an empty stomach.
Looking down at the plate, I noticed everything had been arranged separately. The rice was at least two inches away from the vegetables, and my ginger soy sauce was still in its container –also two inches away from everything else. It all caused me to stifle a chuckle. Saint just couldn’t help himself. He meant it when he said he didn’t like his food to touch.
“I got your little chocolate candies and shit too, Beauty,” he revealed once I’d taken a few bites of my food.
“You mean my Paramour truffles?” My eyes hulked in size.
“The very same,” he nodded as he crawled into bed and positioned himself against the pillows.
Once a month, right before my cycle, I had to have those truffles available to me. Saint had picked up on my cravings and was offering assistance.
“Aw. Thank you, babe.”
“Are you about to get all misty-eyed and start crying?”
“Shut up!” I kissed my teeth and did exactly that.
Chicken and waffles. The simple vegetarian dish was aptly named, though it contained no animal meat. It wasn’t named to be deceptive. It was named because of the familiarity – the look and taste made it familiar to meat for herbivores like me.
Like many who’d chosen the particular diet, I wasn’t against meat or the taste of it. In fact, for me, it was pure vanity. I noticed how celebrities had begun to slow their aging process by reducing meat from their diet. At thirty years old, I sought to remain frozen in time with my current appearance, solidifying my decision not to indulge. The Lion’s Mane mushroom deep-fried in batter was seasoned to perfection, giving it a superb taste that rivaled the texture of meat.
After bathing my plate in hot sauce and syrup, I dug into my meal, pleased by what met my taste buds. Across from me sat Dream and Luna. Beside me sat Robyn. After waiting an expanse of time, we all enjoyed our food in cozy silence.
I’d been dodging my friends for weeks as I settled into comfort with my hoax of a marriage. Despite the truth, I hated thinking of it in such a way. There was nothing hoax-like about it to me. Saint was laid back, kind, and excessively endearing. I was energetic, outspoken, and engaging. Often, I felt like the flame to his impeccable cool.