Page 77 of A Little Kissing Between Friends

I was gone less than two minutes, but as soon as I reentered the living room, there was a soft knock on the front door. Brows lifted, I glanced at Samir and shrugged before I went to the door. The moment I looked through the peephole, I gasped and stepped back from the door, my eyes immediately refilling with tears.

Poppa stood on the other side of the door, her hands in her pockets as she stared right into the tiny fishbowl window. I knew she couldn’t see me but it felt like we’d made eye contact.

“What are you doing?” Samir questioned. I turned around to see him giving me a crazy look.

“It’s Poppa.”

Twisting his lips to the side, he dropped his neck forward. “Okay...” He trailed off, as if I wasn’t making sense. “Are you gon’ let her in or...”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “What is she doing here?!”

He blinked at me slowly. “I’m pretty sure you could ask her that if you...you know...opened the door.”

Blowing out a breath, I shook my head.

“You do it.”

To his credit, Samir didn’t roll his eyes or call me a baby. Instead, he stood from the couch and walked over to the door. When he pulled it open, he slapped hands with Poppa and stepped back to let her into my apartment. All of the nerves that I’d been grappling with started beatboxing and breakdancing in my stomach and chest when I set eyes on her. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to feel, but I did know that seeing her made me happy. I didn’t know why she was here, or what made her show up at this particular moment, but her presence made me happy. Even if I was still trying to cling to my anger, seeing her brought me a sense of peace and joy.

Her eyes swept over me, taking me in, eating me up, setting me on fire with the undeniable emotion I saw reflected there.

“What’s up, Jucee?”

I dragged my tongue across my lip in an attempt to still my heart before offering a soft “Hey.”

The single word was supposed to be nonchalant and easy, but if the amused look that Samir bounced between me and Poppa was any indication, it sounded as breathy as it had felt when I said it.

“Aight, that’s my cue.” The clap of his hands at the end of his words broke the stare-off that Poppa and I were engaging in.

It dawned on me that he was leaving, and that’s when those nerves in my belly began to audition for the stage play adaptation of Breakin’ 2. Turning to him, I started to ask if he could stay a little while longer. And because Samir knew me as well as he did, he cut me off before I could even begin. Stepping in front of me, he framed my face with his hands and peered down at me.

“I love you, Juleesa, and because I love you, I’m not going to stand by and watch you let something that is so right for you die without a fight. You have to talk to her—you have to tell her how this hurt you and what you need going forward for this work. What you have with Cyn is a good thing and it makes you happy. She makes you happy, and when you’re happy, my son is ecstatic. That means I’m even more invested in this working out.”

I laughed wetly. I couldn’t even be mad at that logic.

“I love you too, ’Mir.”

He smirked. “Of course you do. Now, talk to your woman so y’all can fix this.” Releasing my face, he pecked my forehead and then turned to Cyn. They slapped hands and he pulled her into a hug. When she nodded, I realized he was saying something to her, but it was over quickly, and they separated and Samir was out the door in the blink of an eye.

And then it was just me and Poppa standing in my living room.

“Can I—”

“Do you—”

We both started speaking at the same time, and it was so stupid and awkwardly cliché that I cringed and then immediately busted out laughing. She joined in and thankfully moved from by the front door, coming closer to me.

“You go,” I insisted, waving a hand at her.

She nodded and spread her arms. “Can I hug you?”

I bit my lip. My first instinct was to be upset that she felt she even had to ask, but that was silly. Poppa was only respecting the boundaries that I’d laid out two weeks ago. In lieu of speaking, I stepped into her arms and pressed my face into her shoulder. Wrapping her arms around my back, she squeezed me so tightly that I immediately teared up—not because it hurt. It didn’t. But because of what she was saying with that embrace.

When her lips touched my temple, I lost it, full-on sobbing as if I hadn’t already cried buckets with Samir just fifteen minutes prior. How I had any saline left was a wonder.

Poppa clung to me, kissing me and humming a melody I didn’t recognize, but was soothed by nonetheless. We stood there, in the tri-state area where my foyer, living room, and kitchen met, hugging and rocking from side to side, and it was so pure and nourishing and healing. Without a word being exchanged between the two of us, I felt refreshed, renewed. And when we finally separated, Poppa met my eyes as she grabbed my hands and squeezed them.

“Yeah?” One word that translated into several questions. I heard each and every one of them.