Travis
I sit down next to Wes at the restaurant. She reads through the menu. Slowly. She dropped school early so she's not great at reading.
We don't really talk about it. Not her fault. She puts the menu down.
"How are you, Trav?"
I swallow. "Fine, fine. And you? You feeling okay?"
She nods. The waitresss comes to our table. She looks at me up and down and then at Wes. Then she starts talking.
"Whatcha want, ya'll?"
I frown. What the fuck? Why is talking like that. Wes' nose wrinkles up but she carries on.
"I'll have a water, what do you want Travis."
"I'll have a water too," I say hesitantly.
The waitress bends down with a weird smirk, popping her gun. "Aite comin' out for ya."
I shake my head. "I invited Jasmine. Is that okay?"
Wes nods. "I told you I'd love to meet her. Plus 3 percent ain't great, and you seem to like her, so I'd like to meet her in person."
I push the menu further away from me.
Jasmine walks in, sitting next to me. "Hello, I'm Jasmine. So sorry I'm late, excuse me."
Wes smiles. "We just got drinks. You're fine. Very pretty. You like pussy?"
Jasmine pauses before laughing. "God I see where he gets it from. And yes, but you have to wait your turn."
Wes chuckles, sticking her hand out. "Wes, I raised this asshole, so you tell me if he's doing anything wrong, I'll get him in line quick."
Jasmine shakes it with a small smile. "Don't worry, that what my gun's for I won't trouble you. I absolutely believe in violence."
Wes snorts laughing. "Holy fuck, lady. I really like you."
"Same here," Jasmine grins. "Oh and your son is the most precious child, I have ever seen."
Wes pulls on her hair. "Isn't he? Made him myself. Child is more beautiful than I imagined, a good child too, doesn't cry unless he needs something you know?"
"He's very well behaved. And such good manners, you can tell he's been raised by an excellent mother."
Wes looks away with a blush. "Well flattery will get you everywhere with me including in my pants," she winks.
"Don't flirt with my friends, Wes we've talked about this," I sigh.
"I'm not flirting with your friend. I'm flirting with your girlfriend and there's a difference."
Neither one of us corrects her and they banter for a while, as we wait for the waitress to come back.
She does, and she starts glaring at Jasmine. Jasmine doesn't seem to mind until she starts talking again.
"Aite, we gotta order ready?"
Jasmine looks her up and down, and smiles softly. "We'll need a few minutes."
"What drinks can I get you, chil-ay."
Wes bursts out laughing. Jasmine smiles softly.
"It's...it's pronounced chile, not chil-aye. If you're going to appropriate my culture, at least try to do it correctly. And I am not your child. I will have a Dr. Pepper please. Thank you." She says calmly, turning to Wes.
"Was wondering what the fuck she was talkin' like for thought maybe she had an impediment." Wes shrugged. "Have a lot of those in our neighborhood. Like being poor makes 'em black or something. Thought it was a disorder."
Jasmine shook her head. "It is. Anyway, I heard you're not feeling well, are you doing better?"
My smile fades. Wes looks at me in question. I shake my head softly.
She sighs. "Yeah...I'm doing better. 'Sall this pollution yknow? They say it's bad for the body."
Jasmine nodded. "I'd say get fresh air, but...that's almost impossible. I really hope you get better soon. I can't imagine Roman without you. You've raised him so well."
I look down.
"Yeah...yeah I tried. Raised a whole brood. Got grey hairs now not even forty. Anyway, what do you do?"
"I own a business," Jasmine stated.
"Oh...so you don't just look smart. You take care of my boys will you."
Jasmine smiled. "Well I'll love on them when I can, but not nearly as much you do,"
The waitress comes back with the Dr. Pepper.
"What can I get you all to eat? Our specials are—"
I frown. "What happened to your accent?"
• • ••
I follow Jasmine home. We get in her house, and I sit on the couch.
"Something you not telling me about Wes?" She asked. "Every time I mentioned her health you both got depressed."
I nod. "They said it's a 3 percent chance."
She frowns. "Of what?" She sits down beside me.
"Of her making it." I try to swallow it, the storm of tears I've been keeping at bay. But they flood out, right in her lap, as she pulls me into her, rubbing my back, saying nothing.
"It's way less. It's way less than it was in my mind and I can't fucking take it."
