Frost on My Window by Angela Weaver Page B

“Nope.”
    “Why?” Rena asked.
    “No chick flick, no murder movies.”
    “So what are we going to get?” she asked, exasperated.
    After twenty minutes of looking and fifteen minutes of arguing, we stood in line with a mystery and an action comedy.
    “Hey Rena?” I whispered, looking towards the new release section.
    “Hmmm?” she replied absentmindedly, her gaze focused on the overhead video screen.
    “Cute man at four o’clock,” I whispered.
    Rena languidly turned to look in the direction I was subtly pointing.
    “No good.” She shook her head.
    “Why? What’s wrong with him? The man is fine.” Just to make sure I gave him another glance.
    “Take a good, long, hard look and pay attention to the shoes.”
    I examined the pressed khaki pants and the nice indigo polo shirt that wasn’t tight but managed to accentuate the brother’s milk chocolate complexion and flat stomach.
    “I don’t get it.”
    Rena tisked. “Girl, didn’t I teach you anything? He’s matched and he’s pressed.”
    “And…”
    “That means he’s either married, gay, shacking up, or living with his mama. There’s no way he dressed himself that nice and checked for the matching socks and shoes.”
    I started to protest but the object of our speculation took that exact moment to walk by on his way to the other side of the store. I very carefully followed his movements, checking for the gold band. As I looked up it turned out that I didn’t need to. I watched as a smile lit his face and he embraced a petite black woman who’d just entered the store.
    “Another one bites the dust,” I sighed.
    “No kidding,” Rena agreed. “At least we’ve got some movies.”
    “At least you’ve got Trey coming over,” I added. The singer was back in town from a quick trip home to Texas.
    “What?” Rena’s neck should have snapped from the speed at which she turned back towards me.
    “He’s coming over to hang out, don’t you remember?” I tried to play it off.
    “Remembering implies that I was told.”
    “Oops, guess I let the cat out of the bag.”
    “Trey is not coming over,” she said, giving me a warning look.
    “I invited him.”
    “Without telling me?” Her voice rose.
    I shrugged. “Chill, it’s just a movie. You don’t even have to speak to the man.” I watched as she rolled her eyes.
    “Look, Rena. Trey just wants to hang out, eat some pizza, and watch a movie.”
    My cousin stared at me with a suspicious frown. “I’m going to remember this.”
    “Yeah, I know,” I laughed before reaching over to take the videos out of her hand. “Just to make it up to you, I’ll pay for the movies.”
    “And the pizza,” Rena added.
    “No need. Trey’s got the food and drink covered.”
    Twenty minutes later, after we’d gotten home, Rena was still protesting. “Leah, he can’t come over,” she repeated as we both sat on the sofa.
    Just at that moment, the doorbell rang. I smiled as she let out an exasperated sigh.
    “Too late,” I announced, standing up and walking towards the door.
    * * *
    Four days later and two hours before Sean’s sold-out concert at Madison Square Garden, I was the one on pins and needles.
    “Are you ready to go?” Rena’s head peeked through the doorway. I ignored her and continued tracing the edge of my lips with the brown liner. My hand shook with excitement. Tonight I’d see Sean in concert.
    “We’re going to a rock concert. Why are you looking like we’re going uptown to the ballet?”
    “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked.
    Rena leaned against the doorway and smiled. “Nothing if we were going to Carnegie Hall to see Mary J. Blige. But we’re going to a rock concert, sweetie.”
    “And?” I replied before replacing the cap on my lipstick.
    She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “That means the music going to be loud, the crowd wild, and the teenagers crazy.”
    “I’m waiting for you to make your point.”
    “Trust me, Leah. Just go back to