Then, his chest light, precious held in his arm, his boots on the floor of a kitchen in a house owned by good people and occupied by his dream, he picked sweet potato and beef.
* * * * *
Carissa
That Sunday, I stood in Joker’s room at the Compound in my boyfriend jeans, Converse, and the Ride tee I’d splurged on as a no-more-attorney’s-fee celebration (Speck, at the cash register in the store, tried to give it to me for free, I refused, we made a deal at forty percent off so it was a very small splurge).
I was staring around at the mess that had accumulated in what I’d thought was a short period of time since I last cleaned.
Travis was crawling through the debris, which was mostly dirty clothes, and thankfully no choking hazards like coins, having the time of his life.
We’d been headed to lunch, but on the way Joker had to stop to have a quick meeting with his brothers.
So there I was, facing what might not have been as colossal as the first challenge, but it was still a mess.
My body jerked when Joker surprisingly rounded the door much earlier than I expected, announcing, “Meet’s done, Butterfly.”
“That didn’t take long,” I noted.
“It was important, but there wasn’t much to say,” he replied, not coming to me, going straight to Travis, whereupon I watched him bend deep and gently pull the sock Travis was about to shove in his mouth out of his baby fist. “We don’t suck on socks, kid, dirty or otherwise.”
Travis, sitting on his booty, slammed his fists into his thighs and yelled, “Bah, jah, kah, lah!”
“Whatever,” Joker returned, grabbed him and lifted him up.
Travis squealed in protest, preferring the wonders of Joker’s floor to what I thought was far more wondrous, being in his arms.
“You wanna go?” he asked me.
“Do you ever do laundry?” I asked him.
“Not until I have to,” he told me.
“Has it occurred to you that you can dump your clothes on my floor and the miracle of Tyra’s washing machine will get them clean when I do laundry, something that happens regularly?”
The air in the room went electric, but I didn’t understand it.
“Joker?” I called when he stood there, holding a struggling Travis, who wanted to be back on the floor. “Carson,” I said when he still didn’t reply.
Joker shook his head shortly, shaking himself out of his strange stupor.
Then he said, “Carrie, told you you don’t have to do payback like that.”
“I do laundry, Joker. I’m a woman. I like clean clothes,” I returned. “I’m also a mother who likes her son to be in clean clothes. In other words, it’s no skin off my nose my biker’s jeans and tees are in a load with the rest of our stuff.”
His voice was oddly gentle when he stated, “Baby, I see you’re not gettin’ this is a leap in where we’re headin’, and as much as I like that leap, I’m not takin’ it without you gettin’ it.”
“Getting what?”
“Me droppin’ my clothes on your floor.”
“I would prefer the hamper,” I replied. “But I’ll take the floor if I don’t have to haul your stuff from here to home or make a special trip and do it in the machines here.”
“Carrie, you’re still not getting it,” he pushed carefully.
“What?” I asked impatiently.
“A man and woman are in a certain place, he drops his clothes on her floor.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Well, obviously. But I’m seeing you don’t get it. A woman has to be in a certain place with a man to let him feed her baby and claim him every time he’s even close. So I’m there. A handsome biker is the only being that stops to help me with my tire in rush hour, congested traffic on I-25, that biker being all that’s you, I got there quickly. It’s you lagging behind, leaving your dirty clothes in the wrong building.”
The air started zapping when he whispered, “Are you seriously asking me to move in with you?”
My head jerked to the side in surprise.
He was usually so quick.
“Do I have to ask? I mean,” I tossed a hand to the bed, “when’s the last time you slept here?”
He didn’t answer.
I kept at him. “Am I yours?”
“Fu…” He clenched his teeth and forced out, “Yes.”