**** Their meal is in the M/M.
AMBER P.O.V. -
Since Chandra got a job at a hair salon downtown, August was able to cut down on his days of work. He now only worked three days instead of five. And he only came in for half of days, usually in the morning. Or sometimes in the evening, depending on his school schedule.
I was happy for that, because it lessened his load of responsibility.
I also knew it was hard for him being cramped up in that tiny apartment meant for one person, but now had five people living in it. So taking that into considertation, I gave him a key to my house. That way he could study in peace, and get some decent rest without his back hurting from the let-out couch. This also meant, he didn’t have to get up as early as me, when I headed out for work.
Speaking of work, today was particularly exhausting. Meeting with my client today, just made old memories re-surface. Having this man in my face, knowing he committed a crime, and then having to instruct him to lie just turned my stomach. I spent half the day in the bathroom throwing up and crying.
Although I didn’t want to work with Omari, I felt a little relieved I didn’t have to go through this alone. I asked Christina to give Omari the case entirely, since the client admitted nothing to him, but she said I had already been working on the case. And since Omari was new, he needed me to show him the ropes. Just my luck.
I went home totally exhausted. All I wanted to do was get a bite to eat, go to sleep, and forget everything that was happening. I was becoming more stressed and I really needed that trip to Paris before the trial began in a couple of weeks. But I didn’t want to pressure August. I was going to ask him one last time, and if he said no, then I’d find something else for us to do.
When I opened the door, I was met by the familiar smell of Cajun food. August can cook, I asked myself.
“That you baby?” August yelled from the kitchen, his mouth full of whatever he was cooking.
“Yeah.” I said taking off my shoes and setting them by the door.
“Come in here.”
I sat my suit jacket on the couch and went into the kitchen. I couldn’t help but grin at what I found.
“You could’ve at least put it in something.”
“Stop complaining. Sit down.” He said pulling out my chair.
I sat down and he scooted it up. “You know that ain’t how you eat this.”
I looked at the food spread over the newspaper. It was a tradition in New Orleans to make what they call a Louisiana Crawfish bowl. It was a combination of crawfish, sausage, corn, mushrooms, potatoes and artichokes, spread over a picnic table covered with newspaper.
August instead used my kitchen table. “I have not had this since I left New Orleans. Did you cook this or you bought it?”
“Nigga I cooked it.” He went over to the counter, grabbed the wine and wine glasses and sat it down. He poured some wine in a glass and gave it to me.
“A little Jesus juice to go with it.”
“Jesus Juice?” I laughed at the name.
“Yeah. Don’t steal my shit either.” He poured his own and sat down.
I reached for the food, he hit my hand. “Damn can we say grace first?”
“Sorry.” I furrowed my eyebrow.
