Page 29 of You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty
Nasir laughed. “I really am, though! Like I don’t wanna be stuck up in the middle of nowhere, no matter how pretty it is. I’m not into this hermit life.”
Feyi grabbed a dress and draped it over her arm, turning to him. “Okay, so what would your ideal setup be? If you had this kind of money?”
“Real talk? I want a brownstone in Brooklyn. Somewhere near the park, where I can, like, ride bikes with my kids on the weekends.”
“Oh, you wanna stay in New York?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you?”
Feyi raised and dropped a shoulder. “Haven’t really thought about it,” she lied. “Taking it one day at a time, you know?”
“Ah, word, word.”
“Be right back.” She stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind her. It was all marble, from floor to ceiling, with gold fixtures and a banana tree leafing green in the corner. Feyi turned on the shower and tied up her braids in the mirror, placing her toilet bag on the limestone counter. She’d had no idea Nasir wanted kids, but it made sense. He was in his twenties, of course he was planning a home and a family who biked down to the park. Jonah had wanted to adopt, bleeding heart that he was. Feyi didn’t want kids, she never had, but she would’ve tried with Jonah, for Jonah. Everything had seemed possible with him; she hadn’t known how to be scared when she was around him. She’d felt invincible. It had never occurred to her that maybe he wasn’t.
Stop thinking about Jonah.
Feyi pulled off her T-shirt and wriggled out of her jeans, tossing her dirty clothes into a rattan laundry basket and stepping into the shower. The hot water drove thought out of her mind, steaming off her skin as she stood in the spray. She let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding and listened to the water hit her shoulders. If she had more time, she could’ve stayed in there for hours, but Nasir’s presence was loud on the other side of the door. Feyi grabbed her washcloth and scrubbed down with some of the shower gel that was on a limestone shelf next to the faucet. It smelled like grapefruit with something floral in it, tangy and sweet. She wondered if it had been picked out for her; this wasn’t the kind of soap she’d expect Alim to keep in his house. Nah, his style would be something cleaner and sharper. The smell of cold air at the top of an avalanche. A salt breeze from an ocean leagues deep, the water too dark to see into. Feyi laughed to herself as she got out of the shower, drying off with a towel as white and thick as a cloud.
She had no business speculating on what Alim smelled like, not when his son was out there sitting on her bed. Was this deeply unwelcome want just misplaced desire, like Joy had said? Because, what, Alim was an older Nasir? Feyi grimaced as she pulled on a yellow slip dress with thin straps and a cowl neck, smoothing the silk down around her hips. She loved Joy, but that theory sounded like a reach. Feyi could tell the difference between the two men, it was blatant and obvious, and right now, it was distinctly not in her favor.
“It’s just a crush,” she whispered to herself. “He’s hot and famous, and it’s just a crush. Get the fuck over it.”
“What d’you say?” Nasir called from the other side of the door.
“Nothing! Be out in a second!” She untied her braids and shook them out, the gold curls dripping down her back, then opened the door and smiled at him. “You wanna watch me do my face routine?”
Nasir got up from the bed to lounge at the bathroom door. “I wanna watch your face,” he said, then noticed her dress. “Whew! You look like butter!”
Feyi laughed as she swiped toner over her skin and patted in a serum. “I look like butter? That’s the line you’re going with?”
“Mm-hmm. All that gold and yellow.” He leaned toward her, his voice drawling into a singsong. “You look like ghee and honey, baby, you look like money.”
Nasir kissed her cheek, and Feyi swatted him away.
“You better let me finish putting on my makeup.”
“I’m so happy you’re here,” he said, his eyes going serious.
She paused with a mascara brush in her hand. “So am I.” It wasn’t a lie, it was so far from a lie, but Feyi could feel all the things she wasn’t telling him curdling under her tongue, sour and forming a skin. She didn’t know what to do with them, so she swallowed them back and took Nasir’s hand as he led her down to lunch.
Chapter Eight
“Is this entire house made of glass?” Feyi whispered to Nasir as they walked through the dining room, which seemed to be built out of windows and skylights, braced by steel frames, opening up into a shockingly blue sky above and walls of greenery around.
“Real talk, it’s a little creepy,” Nasir whispered back. “I always wonder if someone’s hiding out there, watching us.”
“Wow, thanks, that’s terrifying.”
The dining table was massive, an organic single slab of wood with swirling dark grain, balanced on black steel legs. Delicate glass globes hung staggered from the ceiling, and several chairs in rust leather surrounded the curves of the table. Feyi ran her hand along the back of one, marveling at how supple the leather was, then she noticed that the table was empty.
“We’re not eating in here?”
“Nah, Dad likes the breakfast nook better.” Nasir slid a door open and waved her through into a large kitchen with accordion glass doors next to a casual seating area that was set for three. The air was thick with warm spices. Alim was bringing ceramic bowls to the table, steam wafting up from them. He was still in his white linen, and Feyi noticed a silver ring hanging from a chain around his neck, falling out as he bent to put the bowls on the table. It caused a twinge in her chest—she’d worn her wedding ring like that for years after Jonah died, stopping only when she started thinking about dating again. What did it mean that Alim still wore his? Was it a mark of dedication to his dead wife? Why wouldn’t he wear it on his hand, then; why put it around his neck?
More importantly, why was she even wondering about this? Feyi warned herself to be careful. These were dangerous paths to be thinking along; this curiosity was a risk. It had been safer with Milan, where she felt neither the urge to ask nor to answer questions, and even with Nasir, who held no caverns inside him. She sat down in the chair he pulled out for her, avoiding Alim’s eyes, afraid that he’d see the accumulating interest in hers.
“It’s all your favorites,” Alim was saying to his son. “Curried goat, culantro rice and peas with a touch of saffron, spicy garlic grilled breadfruit.”