He's Just a Friend Read online

  He’s Just a Friend

  J. Nichole

  Copyright © 2019 by J. Nichole

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To my tribe, your support means the world to me. Without you I couldn’t keep pounding out these stories.

  Contents

  J. Nichole Newsletter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  ✩✩✩✩✩

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  One

  Brooklyn

  Saturday mornings in the salon were always packed. Always. As a kid I spent many hours in the salon and I vowed that I’d be better when I had a salon of my own; my clients would be in and out. I, like many others before me, tried and failed at this goal, but I was working on it.

  “Deja, head over to the shampoo bowl,” I called out while I put the last curl in Christine’s hair. I had four clients remaining in the shop, and all the kids had left the building so I turned up the ratchet music to get me through the rest of the day. With Drake blasting through the speakers, I could breeze through the rest of my clients.

  Brooklyn Styles was my place; I opened it as soon as I graduated from college. After four years, I had grown my clientele to include young kids, distinguished women, and all those in between. Being in my hometown, many of the women I knew growing up had become clients or had daughters they’d drag into the shop.

  Although I wanted to schedule clients in blocks to give them each their individual time, I didn’t complain about always being double or triple booked. “What are you having done today?” I asked Deja as she leaned back into the bowl.

  I combed through her shoulder length hair as she told me, “Let’s do those pin curls again.” She smiled showing off both of her dimples. “I have a date tonight.” Me along with the other ladies in the shop ‘ooohhh’d.’ Deja laughed and I promised to hook her up.

  “Where’d you meet him at?” Courtney shouted over the sound of the running water as I rinsed the conditioner from Deja’s hair. Deja shared the story of her random meeting at the grocery store. “Ugh, I never meet guys at the grocery store. I’m always in there with the mamas with two and three bad ass kids,” Courtney replied.

  “Maybe you should go during a different time.” I looked to Deja for confirmation. “Like around six would probably be a good time. You know, when the dudes wrap up at the gym and head to the store for a snack.” Deja nodded her head.

  “Let me find out you hanging out at the grocery store,” Courtney said. I definitely was not hanging out at the grocery store, post office, gym, or club. When my face soured, she asked, “Are you still not trying to find a new boo?” I nodded my head and Courtney groaned.

  Finding a new boo would mean that Marcus and I were done-done, and I wasn’t quite ready to admit we were really over. Not yet. “I mean”—I looked around the shop to see who was remaining, a few ladies I went to school with but none were the run and tell type—“as far as I know, he’s still single.”

  Marcus broke up with me on a whim. Not like he cheated, or had another girl lined up, he was just chilling, single like me. “So if Marcus walked in here today asking for you to take him back, you would?” Deja asked as I placed a shower cap over her head.

  I shrugged a shoulder. I hadn’t considered if he’d actually come back. When he broke up with me he took all of his shit from my apartment. The tears I had cried multiplied when I saw he even snatched back his hoodie I’d lounge around the house wearing. Chances were, this wasn’t like previous breaks, but I was still holding out hope. “Brooklyn,” Courtney said in a stern voice. “You and me have some grocery shopping to do today.” And I couldn’t help but laugh because really, what dude went to the grocery store on a Saturday evening?

  “Obviously we left out details to this grocery shopping hook up thing,” I said while I moved Courtney to the shampoo bowl. “Think of all the days and times you usually go to the store.” I paused to let it sink in. “Okay, now don’t go during any of those times.” I exaggerated the words so she’d get it. Her nose wrinkled as I massaged her scalp. “And when I am ready to look, we’ll hit those aisles.”

  “In sweats and no make-up,” Deja added as she peeked from under the dryer. When Courtney looked at Deja, Deja said, “Guys want to see you bare faced so they know what they’ll get when all that make-up comes off.”

  We collectively laughed at her suggestion, but I stopped ‘cause she did have a date, and I was sitting here single waiting on Marcus’ ass to come back around. I shook my head and finished washing Courtney’s short bob.

  “Alright, girl, have fun on your date tonight.” I hugged Deja as I ushered Courtney from the dryer to my chair. “What style are we doing today?” I asked Courtney as I removed the shower cap from her head.

  “Wish I could say I needed pin curls for a date.” She smirked. “Let’s do a twist out,” she said scrolling through her phone. “You think Deja was in the store with no make-up?” Courtney looked at me through the mirror in front of us. I shook my head. “Yeah, Deja doesn’t look like she’d go anywhere without make-up. Anyway”—she waved her hand—“I haven’t seen your boo around here lately.” My eyes rolled as I twisted her hair.

  “Where have you been? We just talked about how I’m not with Marcus anymore.” She frowned. “What?”

  “I’m definitely not talking about Marcus.” The other two ladies in the salon were hanging onto Courtney’s words waiting for her to spill the tea. “Now you know, Marcus was just a placeholder.” A placeholder? I wish someone had told me he was just a placeholder. I certainly thought of him as more than that. “But Jo. He is your soul mate.”

  “Jo?” I stopped mid twist and looked at the ladies behind me who were nodding their heads. “Wait, didn’t you just ask me to go with you to find a man at the grocery store?” Her neck jerked causing me to lose grip of her hair. “You better be still before your hair is jacked up,” I said with a tap to the back of her head.

  “You don’t need a man. You’d just be along for company.” Her head remained still but she stared me down through the mirror. I politely turned her around so the death stare was not directed towards me. “If you would stop acting like y’all are just friends.” There was no acting, Jo was just a friend. Always had been, probably always would be, unless his girl one day told him we couldn’t be friends anymore.

  “Better yet, maybe I do need some groceries. When are we going?” I asked trying to get off the topic of Josiah. “It’s been weeks since my break up, it’s time I get back out there.” Courtney clapped her hands together along with the other two ladies in the shop.

  By the time Courtney and my other ladies were done, I was exhausted. I blasted the music a little louder, and danced around the shop with my broom sweeping up all the wayward hairs. Being on my feet all day, I was thankful my couch was only a few steps away. Having an apartment above the shop was the most convenient on days like this when I could bare
ly move.

  I shut off the shop lights and climbed the stairs to my front door. When I inserted the key into the lock the doorknob twisted but was hanging on by a single screw. Not only was the apartment above convenient but it was affordable, or maybe cheap. On my “just getting by” salary, and student loans, the salon-apartment combo was the only thing I could afford.

  I sighed and decided tonight was the night I fixed the doorknob. Since being in the apartment I’d become a self-proclaimed handy woman. Like everything else, with YouTube as my guide I’d have it fixed in no time.

  I already had the replacement knob, just needed to swap it out. A screwdriver, screws, the knob, and my phone were propped up on the floor near the door. I followed the instructions in the video to remove the plate and knob, and when I got to the latch on the inside, it took all my elbow strength to wriggle it out.

  With all the old pieces lying on the floor, I opened the package for the new knob and started placing the pieces onto the door. Once I was finished I wriggled the knob, and it was perfect. I stood up from the floor and looked around at the apartment. There were more things I could work on, but I’d save that for another day.

  I did snap a picture of my work—the old knob and all the pieces laying on my floor—then a picture of the shiny new knob on the door. I snapped a selfie of me smiling next to the handle and sent it to Josiah.

  Brooklyn: Check out my work!

  A reply didn’t come right away because he was probably out with his latest girlfriend. I cleaned up the mess from the floor and made sure my new knob locked securely. I plopped on the couch, too tired to cook dinner, and wished Marcus was still around to whip up one of his infamous meals. He claimed my mama failed me in the cooking department and spared us both the trouble of suffering through one of my meals.

  To be honest, cooking wasn’t the only area my mama failed me. When it came to domestic skills, I had to learn after I left the house. My college roommates were kind enough to remind me of the things that should have been common sense, like how to separate colors to do laundry or to cook basic meals to get by when we weren’t scavenging at the campus cafeteria.

  I didn’t blame my mama, completely. After my dad passed away we all went into our own mourning, except when my sister and I were ready to move on with life, mama was still suffering from depression. Getting her out of the room let alone the house became a struggle. It was then that Josiah and I became even closer; he’d be the one to pick us up for school and always made sure his mama made extra dinner for us.

  Dwelling on what Mama didn’t teach me still didn’t fill my belly. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the Postmates options. In our small town there weren’t as many. But my favorite mom and pop cafe delivered, and I placed an order for the daily special of spaghetti and meatballs—the same we’d eat at least once a week at home. When Josiah’s mama opened a restaurant, I wasn’t too excited for everyone to have access to the cooking that fed me, but I was excited she was living her dream.

  As the order was placed, I saw a text from Josiah, finally.

  Josiah: Still not cooking? You know YouTube can teach you that too.

  I rolled my eyes at my phone although Josiah couldn’t see my face. Unlike me, he stayed in his mama’s kitchen learning to cook. In college, when I missed a home cooked meal, he’d be the one to show up to my apartment with a pan of lasagna or a pot of spaghetti, making all of my roommates jealous.

  Brooklyn: You delivering for ya mama now?

  I wouldn’t be surprised if Josiah did show up with my food. Although he had a job of his own, he helped his parents with the restaurant as much as he could.

  My phone rang and I answered when I saw his name cross my screen. “What is it?” I said when I answered.

  “You know you could have just called me for a plate, right?” I breathed deeply because I knew he was about to ramble on about something. “You would have saved on the delivery fee.”

  “I thought you’d be busy with your girl,” I responded honestly.

  “But here I am still making your plate of spaghetti and meatballs.” He chuckled dryly into the phone. I mocked him sarcastically and he said, “Not a good idea considering I’m making your food right now.”

  He was right, I didn’t want him to try anything crazy with my food. “Ugh, you win. Don’t mess with my food.” He laughed again and I asked, “Did you even see the pic of my handy work?”

  “Yeah, I’m glad you finally got to it. Told you I would have done it weeks ago.” I heard Mama Mitchell in the background rushing Josiah. “Does it lock?” he asked.

  “It does.” I looked over to my door and smiled at my masterpiece.

  “Good stuff. Hey, your food is on the way.” I thanked him and hung up. In a way, I wish he were delivering my food. I kinda wouldn’t mind seeing him.

  Two

  Josiah

  “Damn, again?” I yelled when Tony threw the controller down on the couch. “How about you actually play on your own before you challenge me to another game.” Tony was drinking his glass of Hennessy and rolling his eyes. I had beaten him on Madden for the second time of the night.

  “Everybody doesn’t have time like you to just play games all day.” I smirked and turned the game off. “Does your job know you spend half the day designing and half the day gaming?”

  I wagged my head as he continued whining about what I did all day. Being a banker, he didn’t have the same luxury of working from home. “Are you hatin’?” I asked with a grin on my face. I finished off my glass of Hennessy and walked our empty glasses to the kitchen. I looked at the clock and said, “Time to wrap this up, my girl will be here soon,” I said standing near the door.

  “I’ll be glad when y’all break up. She’s always interrupting some shit.” He continued in his pissy mood.

  “Dude, you checked your tampon? Maybe you leaking,” I joked as he walked towards the door. Tony and I had been friends since elementary school. I’d been dealing with his shitty mood for years; thankfully they only lasted for a couple of days. Usually, they tampered down when he got laid, and since he and his girlfriend recently broke up, he may be in his funk for a little while longer.

  Tony grabbed the doorknob and said, “For real though, I’m sure she only has about two weeks before she expires anyway, right?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  He cocked his head and said, “You have a pattern. You’ll date for a while, make them your girl, then about three months in you find some excuse it didn’t work.” I thought back through my past couple of girlfriends and tried to find one that didn’t match that pattern. “Am I right?”

  “Get out of here, Tony,” I said exasperatedly. “Next week, come ready to play,” I yelled behind him as he walked down the hall.

  Minutes later, Alana was rolling up, and I groaned when I saw her baggage. “Hey, Babe,” she said with a kiss to my cheek. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

  She said the same thing each time she arrived, although we previously discussed when she would arrive. I acted like it was cute and shook my head, kissing her forehead as I dragged her bag through the door. “Alana, why this big ass bag for one night?” I asked as I rolled it into my bedroom.

  Although I kicked it hard at night, with some of everybody coming through, my days were sacred. I couldn’t have folks lingering for too long, so Alana’s visits could only last for the hours before my work day started early in the morning. There was no need for her to make herself comfortable ‘cause she wouldn’t be able to stay longer than a night, ever.

  “I didn’t know what I wanted to wear tomorrow, so I brought options.” Alana was a producer for the morning news, but she was never in front of the camera. But the way she dressed, you’d think she was on the screen during prime time. I didn’t complain too much ‘cause it was the way she dressed that initially caught my attention.

  “Okay,” I said. “Glass of wine?” She nodded her head and I poured her favorite wine
into one of my only wine glasses. I didn’t drink wine but made sure I always had some around for her. “How was work?”

  Since dating Alana, I started tuning into the news. Mostly it’s on as background noise but I caught most of the segments she’d tell me she was responsible for. “They cut my yoga segment short because of the mayor’s announcement,” she said, practically whining. I heard something about the mayor announcing a new water initiative, and it seemed important.

  “Right, the water,” I said as I sat beside her on the couch. She looked at me and frowned. “Seems important, you see how long it’s taking Flint to get clean water?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, it’s important.” I was just waiting for her to tell me the segment on yoga was just as important, but she didn’t. She just complained that they could have continued her segment after his announcement. “They aren’t even going to air the rest of the segment.”

  I turned the TV to her favorite show, some reality mess she watched every Thursday. “Have you eaten?” I asked. I left her on the couch and went to the kitchen to make a plate of food for myself.

  “No, I’m not hungry,” she responded, not turning from the TV, mumbling something under her breath.

  As I waited for my food to finish warming in the microwave, my phone rang. I smiled when I saw Brooklyn’s name on my screen but I knew answering would cause Alana to talk about how I always interrupted our time to talk to her. It wasn’t purposeful, but Brooklyn was one of my best friends. Like Tony, she’d been around since elementary school. When her dad passed away, we grew even closer.