Love Games

01|| Party

🦋Amina

"Amina," Ivy's voice slices through the air, interrupting my concentration on counting the pills. I take a moment to finish the task, a cascade of white tablets spread across the table before responding, "Back here!" My words carry through the room, mingling with the scent of pharmaceuticals.

Ivy makes her entrance, her footsteps echoing off the sterile walls. She settles into a chair, her presence demanding attention. "Did you fulfill and bottle up that big shipment?" she inquires, her eyes probing mine for confirmation.

"Yeah, I put it u—" I begin, but she swiftly interjects with a protest, urgency lacing her words, "Oh no, those packages under Barry Baker always go in the back room." Her tone brooks no argument.

I raise my eyes, momentarily halting my count on the last bottle of oxi pills. "But the procedure says always—"

"I know, but my Aunt Dee resells these to a local business, so protocol is a little different," Ivy hastily explains, a sense of urgency in her voice.

"Okay," I wave her off. In just my third month at the pharmacy, I was still navigating the intricacies. Ms. Dee, with her 15 years of successful business, was a beacon of experience. I trusted her expertise, convinced she knew what she was doing.

My introduction to Ms. Dee came through Ivy, a companion from pharmacy school and Ms. Dee's niece. Post-graduation, Ms. Dee generously extended job offers to both Ivy and me, setting the stage for a partnership that blended professional mentorship with familial ties.

Ivy and I's conversation smoothly transitions into our plans for the night after work. After predicting my fate of rotting in bed post a Teen Mom marathon, she extends an invitation to her place.

"So, you want to chill at my place tonight? A few of my cousins are coming over," she says, watching me wrap up the last order.

"Sure, what's the plan?" I ask with curiosity. Ivy's family has always been a source of warmth for me. With my mom being adopted and having limited family, I relish the joy of being around Ivy's welcoming and humorous relatives.

"Just chill, maybe some drinks and music. The elders are out tonight," she informs me.

"So, no Ms. Barb's cooking?" I say in a slightly pouting tone, referring to Ivy's mom, known for her culinary skills.

"Aunt Dee, Uncle Frank, and my parents are all out of town, so no," she explains.

"Well, guess I'll swing by Waffle House then. What time is it starting?" I inquire.

"Probably around 8. It's nothing special; come in your PJs and just enjoy the night with us," she suggests.

I nod in understanding. After bidding Ivy farewell, I make my way home, the night air providing a comforting contrast to the warmth of Ivy's invitation. Shoes kicked off, I sink into the familiar embrace of my living room.

As I begin to unwind, my phone buzzes with my mom's call. "Hey, Ma," I jokingly answer, a playful smile evident in my voice.

"Amina," she warns, accompanied by a slight laugh.

"I'm just kidding, hi mommy," I correct myself.

"Hi, sweetheart! How was your day?" Mom's warmth radiates through the phone.

I lean back on the couch, recounting the day's events, "It was good. We're really getting the hang of this pharmacy operation."

A genuine smile lights up my mom's face, and in that moment, I can feel her pride enveloping me. Despite not being the sharpest tool in the shed or the most put-together teen, I've somehow managed to turn my life around at 21. "That's great, sweetheart. I'm genuinely proud of you. Papa would be too," she says, and the mention of my father brings a surge of emotions. Wanting to avoid delving into that emotional territory, I deftly change the subject.