"Hey."
"Hey."
Cameron walks in, carrying a small black bag in one hand and a box under the other arm, mildly struggling to hold the door open.
"Need help?"
"Nah, I'm good, baby. Stay there."
Mia stays in her loveseat, one earbud dangling from her ear, as she rests her eyes from the laptop in front of her. He walks into the living room with the box, handing it to her on his way into the kitchen.
"You good, baby?" He asks.
"Yeah," she says, sitting the box to the side, "Try'na finish my research for this damn midterm. How was it?"
"It was aight, slow. Want one?" He stands in front of the open refrigerator, holding up a clear glass bottle.
"I'm good, baby." She says, then looks again.
"Wait, wine coolers? When'd you get those?"
"I'm tired of beer," he replies, closing the fridge and making his way to her, taking a seat next to her feet. She moves her legs to place her feet on his lap, and closes her laptop, removing her earbuds and sitting them both on the floor.
"For real, how'd it go?" She asks.
"It was fine, baby," he replies pensively, as he twists the cap off of his beverage.
"Cam," she says again. He knows that look. He sighs.
"I'on know, Mia. I mean, I'm glad I finally got published but... I'on know. It's just not what I expected."
"That's what happens when you write a novel in the 'information era,' Cam. I told you, people don't like to read anymore. They like pictures," she says, crossing her eyes as she mimicks scrolling on her phone. He chuckles.
"I know, it's just... well, you LOVE to read."
"Yes, I do," she agrees.
"So, wouldn't you go to your favorite author's book signing?" He asks.
"Hell yeah, if she weren't dead," she laughs.
"I'm serious, Mia. Only two people showed up today. TWO." He says, clearly feeling defeated as he takes a sip of his much needed glass of relaxation.
"Did they take selfies?" She asks.
"First thing, every time," he answers.
"Did you TALK to them at least?"
"Never got the chance. One wanted his signed for his mom, the other brought her lil' funky-ass girlfriends back there to take pictures and left. Hoes didn't even grab a fuckin' copy," he says, shaking his head.
"CAM."
"I KNOW, I'm sorry, I just... I mean shit, Mia. The fuck I'm 'posed to do 'bout sales?"
"Baby... How many days you have your signing at The Grove now?" She asks.
"Five. Five days." He states.
"And how many people came to your first two signings?" She asks, trying to prove a point.
"I mean, you were THERE-" he stops. Suddenly, something clicks, and he curses his lack of hindsight.
"Shit, baby," he says, giving himself a light face-palm.
"Yeeeah," she replies, over-exaggerating a head nod.
"Three. Should'a made it three days," he says.
"The magic number is always three."
"Jesus's comeback: three days. Told ya," she chuckles, patting his hand. She gets up, grabbing the box he handed to her, and walks to their bedroom. He watches her walk for a moment, her curvy frame draped in a sheer black nightgown, her curly hair loosely swaying across her shoulderblades. He's always admired how gorgeous and intuitive she was. He appreciates the view, and follows her to the bedroom, drink in hand.
Mia takes a seat on the bed, and pulls out a box-cutter from the nightstand next to her. Cameron finishes his cooler, entering just in time for her to finish opening the box.
"Check this out," she says, setting the blade aside and opening the cardboard flaps to reveal something wrapped in brown paper, tied together by a piece of hemp rope.
"Aww shit, whatchu get now?" He asks, taking a seat next to her on the bed.
"Boy, just open the damn thing," Mia chuckles.
He tears the paper, pulling the rope off and setting it aside. Inside is a smooth, dark leather journal, with 'Brookes' branded in gold on the spine.
"Oh... baby, this looks-"
"Turn it over," she tells him.
He turns the journal over and reads the small branded letters on the back. He pauses for a few moments, running his thumb over the gold print. His voice softens.
"How'd you do this?"
"Remember the wedding card your mom wrote? After she passed, I decided to put everything she ever gave us in the safe with the deed and stuff. I saw you were losing hope so I got someone to customize this for you."
Near the bottom of the journal, it read:
"Go on, my little songbird. Show Mama you can fly." B.B.
He recites a quote he's heard a thousand times:
"'You never gone' grow without a lil' bit o' rain, so when the storm come-'"
"'-all ya gotta do is sang.'" Mia finishes the saying with him.
"Beebee loved the hell outta some gold, too. Her bedroom looked like a damn pawn shop." She chuckles again; She was never really good at comforting. He silently chokes back tears; up until this moment, he never thought he could be more grateful for the woman he married.
"Baby... thank you. For real, this is-"
"Oh, shut up. Here," she takes the journal and puts it back in its box, setting it on the nightstand next to her.