[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒]

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄

of the light setting in London and I's bathroom that I didn't like.

We left the first day of February winter break. The first class plane ride was fine, my neck was sore from leaning my head on London's shoulder for the whole ride, though.

For our trip, London and I were staying at his old home that was technically his. Apparently everything that once belonged to August King (London's father) now belongs to London since London is one of his father's beneficiaries. The other beneficiary was his mother, but yeah . . .

So now London owned the house in San Francisco, his house in Palm Springs, the cars, other things . . .

London's old home was in a gated community. His house was bigger than mine — modern, like mine, but I actually liked the exterior and interior design of his.

I got a quick house tour. Before dinner I took a shower and changed into some spandex booty shorts one of London's shirts that was baggy on me. His clothes always smelled fresh, like he just took them out of the dryer or wash.

Chinese food was on the kitchen table when I went down.

"What are we doing tomorrow?"

"I have to go visit my mom's grave before I do anything, really. You coming with me?"

"Do you want me to?"

He shook his head yes.

I reached over the counter to intertwine my fingers with his.

"What's your mom's name?"

"April."

I smiled. "So your mom's name is April and your dad's name is August. That's cute."

"Like London and Paris."

"Watch Brooklyn fall in love with someone named Queens."

"Right." We both laughed.

London and I agreed to sleep in the same bed. I slept in his Bob Marley graphic tee and boy-cut panties. London slept in only his Calvin Klein boxer briefs, and gold chain.

I shuffled real close to him so that I was in his arms. It was a peaceful night until London thought he was slick and tried to leave early in the morning.

"Noo, come back," I croaked and sat up, reaching for the string of the sweatpants he'd just put on. "Where're you going?"

"I'm just going to get flowers. If you go back to sleep now, I'll be back before you wake. Okay?"

"Okay," I muttered sadly, making sure that he heard the sullenness

"Here." He took my bonnet which had fallen off and put it on my head. "Put your bonnet back on."

"Let me go with you. What if I get kidnapped?"

"They'll bring you back, it's okay."

"What if you get kidnapped?"

"No one's kidnapping me. Now lie down."

I did as he gently ordered. All I remember was him kissing my forehead and then me dozing off after.

London was back before I woke up, he brought me breakfast as well.

"Thank you," I said, reaching up on my toes to kiss him.

"No problem." He had his arms wrapped around my lower back.

I ate my breakfast and enjoyed London's company.

London was awfully quiet during the ride to the cemetery. At some point, I squeezed his hand for reassurance in which I received a smile from him. I smiled back at him, but that smile disappeared when I realized I was doing less than the bare minimum.

I wished I could be good at things like these — comforting people.

He got out of the car without a word and approached the headstone. While walking, he randomly stopped, and came back to the car.

"Come with me, please," he said softly.

"Of course." I got it and held his hand.

"I'm not going to lie, I hate coming here. Whenever I see my mom's grave, I have this overbearing sense of guilt and sadness."

"Why guilty?"

"Because, I told you, at some point, I blamed my dad for my mom's death. So I ran away, if I hadn't run way then my dad wouldn't have turned himself into the police. If I hadn't done any of that running away BS if have at least one parent with me."

I didn't know how to respond to that. Wisely, I stayed quiet and didn't think of anything to say since it'd come out stupid.

We stopped in front of a gravestone with her full name engraved, April Esi King, 1976-2016.

There was a long silence before London crouched down and put the flowers he bought in front of his mom's grave. After a moment of standing I got on my knees in front of the gravestone and wrapped an arm around London.

"She'd like you," he said.

You may find fit hard to believe, but some people find me unlikable. "I don't think so."

"Why do you say that?"

"London, I wasn't the nicest to you when we first met," I reminded.

"True," he agreed. "She'd still like you, though."

"Why?"

"Because I do, and that's all that would matter to her."

Rather than smiling at London, I smiled at the grave.