Bloom

18 | whatever I want

Giselle "G" Rowe
Friday, November 18 | 2:36 p.m.
The Rowe Residence

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I hum my own tune as I finish weaving the final emerald green thread through the garment. All that's left to do is a little trimming on the ends and tightening a few loose stitches with my sewing machine. It looks so beautiful on the mannequin, I'm beside myself with excitement over how it'll look on a real body.

Things have been pretty productive and I'm exhausted with work in the best way. I've pushed myself to complete and ship two more orders; I've picked up extra tables this week and my bank account really reflects that.

My joints pop as I raise my hands over my head to stretch, a direct result of me hunched over my desk, sewing, stitching, and cutting for hours. I decide to straighten up my room, pack a few extra things in my new pink duffle bag, and head to the bathroom to shower.

I throw on something simple, long sleeves and boots for the fall weather. A dark sultry lip tops it all off. My phone lights up with a text message notification just as I'm misting myself with faintly sweet perfume and I can't help the giddy smile that creeps onto my face. I sling my bag over my shoulder and quickly maneuver through the empty house, making sure all the lights and appliances are turned off before I head out the front door.

It's crazy that no matter how many times June picks me up, I still have sickeningly strong butterflies in my stomach walking out to his car. Like, am I even doing it right?

Left foot, right foot.

"Damn, am I going ever gone be allowed to knock on the front door soon or do I gotta be yo' filthy secret forever?"

"Shut up!" I laugh, placing my stuff in the backseat before buckling my seatbelt. "You coulda came to the door this time. The house is empty."

As usual, my parents are out doing shit that happily married people do — something about a luxury staycation downtown. As a part of Gab's quest to be a better mother, she's been able to change a bit of her work schedule to see her son more so they're out having a mother-son day.

I'm proud of my girl already.

"Yeah? I'll remember that next time."

"Okay, na." I roll my eyes. "Don't get carried awa —" June's fingers wrap around my jaw in an instant and he presses his lips against mine, shutting me up. Our tongues dance for a while before he breaks the kiss with a smug grin.

"You ready to getcho ass beat?"

I don't say what I'm actually thinking, deciding to just roll my eyes again and stare out the passenger window to hide how flustered I am.

"You want me to beat some else, huh?" He chuckles, twirling the knob to the speakers and backing out of my driveway.

There aren't any witty comebacks when you've been peeped out.

**********

Friday, November 18 | 7:57 p.m.
Hi, Scores - Arcade and Restaurant

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"Man," June sucks his teeth just as the neon yellow puck zips past his mallet, making me laugh. "Don't get too happy. That wasn't you, I accidentally knocked it in myself."