Page 51 of Saint
Together, we lacked nothing except for the presence of unconditional love. Though presently absent, I had no doubts that it would soon flood us both and cause difficulty with leaving once my agreement was fulfilled.
Dream was the first to set her silverware down, prompting me to peer at her in curiosity. That heifer could eat. She never interrupted her affair with a meal until it was finished.
“Okay. Let’s discuss the issue at hand,” she announced.
“Issue? What issue?” I probed, scanning the table for any clues. Wiping my mouth clean with the napkin from my lap, I waited for an answer. Default of shame, I’d started on my plate, greedily devouring the contents without consideration for my surroundings.
“I speak for everyone when I say you have been acting weird and standoffish. You don’t return calls or texts. You’ve been flaking on our meet-ups. When we ask if you’re okay, you say you are, but your behavior tells a different story, Tori.”
Three sets of eyes landed on me, and I realized they’d been waiting to tear into my ass. This brunch was a setup.
“Ahem. Okay,” I started, instantly thinking of Saint and his response to everything. The simple affirmative word granted the ability to either end or continue a conversation. The only person wholly aware of which direction it would go was the person who’d spoken it. The fact that Saint had used it so frequently was ingenious, really.
“I’ve been busy…”
“Oh, cut the shit, Tori, we’re all busy,” Dream started. “Luna has her lumber business, I’m running a nightclub, and Robyn is almost always on the clock. That’s no excuse. If–”
“–I let you speak,” I clipped. “If you intend to talk over me and pursue an argument, I will not engage, heaux. Let me finish.”
Dream swatted her eyes at me, motioning with her hands for me to continue. Already, I didn’t like where the conversation was headed, but I pressed forward.
“As I stated, I’ve been busy. I have someone new in my life, and it’s serious.”
It was the only way to describe what was occurring with Saint in a way that my friends would understand. The question of whether or not I believed those words as I spoke them was unsettled and something to revisit later. Saint had latched on to my heart, burrowing roots, though I had yet to address it.
“We’ve been spending a lot of time together, so if you’ve been to the condo in South Pointe, I probably wasn’t there,” I shrugged.
Hell, up to now, I’d only been back to South Pointe a few times. Once to inform my parents I was moving, and the second time around was to collect personal items from the condo. My parents were nothing like my friends. For them, it was all out of sight, out of mind. It didn’t bother me that our relationship had been that way. Being raised under them, I’d grown accustomed to it.
As far as my friends went, you’d swear they pushed me out of their coochies.
“Wait, what do you mean by serious?” Luna pressed.
“I mean, I’m in his bed more often than my own.”
“So, do y’all live together? Tori, who is the nigga? Damn! Give us something,” Dream fussed.
“If you all would let me speak, I would,” I rolled my eyes. “His name is Saint Miller. He’s a marine biologist. He’s sweet, respectful, very handsome but shy.”
“Ew, shy Tori? Really?” Dream cringed, causing my nostrils to flare. The way her miserable ass disregarded every other adjective to run with that one word seeped under my skin and presented a red flag. “That’s not even your type.”
“The last of my type nearly locked me into a sex-trafficking ring, but alas, I digress.”
“Digress, heaux.”
“He’s autistic,” I blurted, not expecting any consequences as I tried to explain Saint’s shyness. He wasn’t my type, but he was growing on me. In fact, his type was swiftly becoming the only type that made sense for me.
“So, he’s slow?” Dream asked again.
“Like, does he interact with people well? Is he weird or into weird shit?” Luna tacked on.
“How did you get serious with a nigga on the spectrum?” Dream pressed, rolling her eyes.
The offense I harbored was heavily embedded in me. My friends had, in an instant, become frenemies. Saint didn’t deserve their judgment or their harsh words.
“First of all, fuck y’all!” I spat, lifting my glass and swallowing its contents before speaking again.
And maybe it was an overreaction, but were they being fucking for real? I reached for the prosecco, filling my glass again before adding a small drop of orange juice.