Page 31 of The Sweetest Return

Damien was consistent. Thoughtful. Easy to understand. I cared about him, and over time I loved him, but if I was being completely honest with myself, I had also chosen a man I believed I could survive losing.

I had spent a long time calling that maturity.

Maybe some of it was. Some of it was me being careful enough that I never had to find out whether another man could break my heart the way Dre had.

Damien had done nothing to deserve being loved halfway because I was still protecting myself from something he had never done.

Bari glanced toward my phone. “You know you don’t get extra points for dragging it out.”

My head came up. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying. If it’s done, let that man go find somebody who likes him enough to answer texts before the phone goes dark.”

“Jabari,” Mama warned.

“What? That was compassionate.”

“That was not compassionate.”

“It was accurate with a little seasoning.”

I hated that I could not argue with him.

Bari knew about men I had no intention of discussing in front of my parents because twins knew things parents absolutely did not need to know. He knew about Naz, about my questionable phase, about the man with money, cars, neighborhood reputation, and a calm confidence I found sexy right up until I realized he thought my ambition was something I would eventually outgrow once I understood he could provide for me.

One night, Naz asked why I worked so hard when I had him.

I never forgot the question.

Dre had been the opposite in almost every way. If I had an exam, the date changed. Food appeared instead. He stretched his long body across the end of my bed and complained about the number of highlighters I owned while quizzing me from my notes.

Dre never looked at my ambition and wondered why I needed it.

Which was part of what made everything that happened between us so much harder.

Mama sighed at my phone, and I knew that sigh. It was not really about Damien. Mama liked him well enough, but she liked more what he seemed to represent: a good man who loved her daughter, a relationship with somewhere to go, maybe a husband eventually. Maybe children. The kind of future mothers could picture clearly enough to start getting attached before anybody had promised them one.

She had never been the type to harass me about marriage or grandchildren, but I was twenty-nine now, and every once in a while I caught her looking at my life like she wondered whether there would ever be little people in it calling her Grandma.

“You could at least tell Damien you got his message,” she said.

“I will.”

“When?”

“When I know what to say.”

Bari slid another book onto the shelf. “You know.”

“I did not ask you.”

“You never do, and yet you keep needing me.”

“Jabari.”

He raised both hands and went back to the box.

Daddy set the screwdriver down and stood.