a clean gray suit, looking all of Wall Street. The other was an older man with silver hair wearing khakis and one of those old fashioned sweaters with pads on the elbows. I could smell the tobacco from the cigar pipe hanging from his mouth. I knew white people from Millville. These were rich white people; their postures said so. As the doors closed, my eyes swung up to Ashton, whose hand was still clasped to mine, but mind seemed eons away.
The elevator made four stops before we arrived at our floor. The two men left on their floors, but a couple stepped on for two stories. Finally, we made it to the sixteenth floor. My face was to my feet when I trailed behind Ashton, hands still locked. The shoes I wore today were beginning to hurt my feet. They were the pointy toe Red Bottoms I wore the night Ashton took me out for a ride on his bike. They were fine then, but this evening was a different story. It was too bad; they made me feel so grown-ass-woman’ish.
I almost tripped on my own feet when I happened a glance ahead. Those pink sweat suits from the lobby were posted against the fancy wallpaper on one side of the hall. All of their faces were to the floor, but eyes wide open. Ashton, feeling my stumble, slowed and turned back to me.
“It’s okay, McNabb. We’re here.”
We finally stopped at a door and Ashton let me in. The place was huge: a living room and dining room on the opposite end with big views of the setting sun. To the right was a kitchen, clean and with stainless steel appliances. I couldn’t find the bed, the one thing I was expecting to see, but from this vantage point, I couldn’t locate the bathroom either. I had to quickly remind myself, this was Ashton. I was with a BSU guy with all his money and culture. It was another reminder of me being in way over my head out here.
“Set them up there,” I heard Ashton order in a voice I hadn’t heard since I began running with him in the mornings. It was deep, rude, and disconnected from anything warm.
Then I saw the pink suits. They all looked at the floor as they lined against the wall again, except for the ones carrying the groceries. They were laying them on the table in the kitchen.
“Who has the receipt?” Ashton asked. A few of them looked at each other with a mixture of confusion and shock. “No, cubs. I’m not gonna have you drive all the way out here, go grocery shopping, and expect you to foot the bill.” A slick smile opened on his face. “I’m not acting DoP. I’ll go easy.”
A chorus of sighs filled the small hallway, but no one looked up. That frustrated me because I wanted to see who these guys were.
“Thanks, big brother overseer!” they all seemed to have praised at the same time.
“You,” he addressed one with his eyes. “Leave that bag there.” It was a plastic bag with something wide inside I couldn’t make out. Ashton took a look at the receipt then glanced at me. “You mind putting everything away?” His tone was tender like we were a married couple in front of our children.
Without thinking much, I hopped to it, passing two of the guys on the way inside the kitchen. After dumping my blazer, I washed my hands with dish detergent then began taking food out of the bags.
There was a pack of bacon, chicken, pasta, ground beef, and vegetables like a green pepper and onion. I pulled out a carton of eggs, biscuits, a box of pancake mix, and frozen home fries. My suspicion rose when I saw the brand of tomato sauce I use, Worcestershire sauce, minced garlic, olive oil, and a can of plain diced tomatoes. There were seasonings I’d used; flour, sugar, and other things too familiar to be a coincidence.
Once all three bags were empty, I found Ashton’s dark eyes on me. “Anything missing?” I chewed on my bottom lip and shook my head, my palms gripping the edge of the counter too tightly. “So far, so good. If there’s a single item missing, I’m going to sic big brother butcher on y’all asses.” Ashton handed over a wad of cash to one of them, and quietly they filed toward the door.
He followed behind them, closing the door when they were out. When