I let go of a shaky sigh and close my eyes, fighting the pressure building there. “I’ll be okay.”
“If you don’t want Shad to wild out–”
“He won’t. I’ll be okay by the time I get out of the car.”
He sighs, zooming toward Lightning Heights. “Want me to take care of it?”
“Take care of what… where… what the hell?”
I look back at YT, giggling at how delirious she looks. The rest of the ride is spent with them bickering back and forth, and it’s a welcome distraction until I go inside the house.
As soon as the front door closes and locks behind me, my smile drops. The boulders on my shoulders multiply exponentially. And the bullshit Brandon was spewing begins to sound like the truth the more it repeats in my head.
The downside to being Miss Niggas is you attract all kinds of them. Including the assholes who try to turn my outgoing personality into something negative and ugly.
I’m a very sex positive girl. But that doesn’t mean I’m hypersexual. And sometimes, a nigga who feels like they should get any of me because they want it pulls some weird shit that discombobulates me.
Like, you don’t even know me like that. But that’s my fault for even trying to fuck with a square, stable nigga in the first place. A “nice guy.”
“Nice guys” are rarely, if ever, actually nice.
I don’t bother holding in my tears as I trudge up the stairs to my room. Shaddy texted me during book club a picture of him and Sadé at the studio, so I can take a long bath and have someimpromptu crying time in peace, since it’s been a while for that anyway.
And just like that, more sadness compounds in my belly, thinking about my baby daddy and the earth shattering sex he gave me the night before. No pretense of a perineal massage to hide behind. I can’t even pretend either of us were inebriated.
No. Something is unfurling between us faster than I can comprehend. Something I’ve never felt before. Something that scares the living daylights out of me, wanting me to run back to Northupton and hide behind my mom and Uncle Junior.
Too bad Mika ain’t raise no punk bitch.
I open the door to my guest room and stall at the lightswitch. There, in the middle of my bed, is Shaddy and Sadé laid out, facing the tv. Sadé turns to me, the light from the tv illuminating her face and the bright gummy smile that spreads when she notices me. Her baby garbles wake Shaddy, who also smiles when he notices me.
“Mommy’s home, huh lil shorty?” he grumbles, sleep evident in his voice.
Something about seeing them so happy to see me walk through the door shifts something inside of me. I wouldn’t call it deja vu per se. Because it doesn’t feel like I’ve been here before.
But it definitely feels like I’m on the right track. For the very first time, it feels like all my plot-driven shenanigans are leading me somewhere. Where I’m meant to be.
And that, mixed in with the words still orbiting my mindscape, makes me break into the ugliest cry of my life.
Shaddy’s smile drops immediately, and he gets up to place Sadé in her playpen next to my bed.
“Hey, hey,” he whispers, as he cups my face with both hands. Concern is etched deeply on his own face, but those hennessy eyes tell on him every time. Muted rage dot them as he analyzes me, probably trying to figure out who he’s gonna have to break.
“Why… why did you leave?” I manage to push out through hiccuping.
He swipes his thumbs over my cheeks, trying to catch as many tears as he can. “I had to get right. For me. For you and Sadé. C’mon Mace, you not slow. You knew I was finna jump ship.”
“B-but, you didn’tsayanything,” I stress. “I woke up with a baby and you were gone. What was I supposed to think?!”
He kisses me gently on the forehead, and when he pulls back I see his eyes turn glassy. He licks his lips, and I see the war over what to share and not share in his eyes.
Shaddy isn’t open with anyone, and if you didn’t pay close enough attention, you’d miss it. He talks about a whole bunch of nothing, insignificant details that really don’t mean shit.
The meat and potatoes of who Shaddy is, he keeps under tight wraps. I’m sure if Raya and his mom were alive, he would have never had a breakdown. He would have kept continuing holding shit in, like he’s trying to do now.
He must find what he’s looking for, because his eyes stop dancing around my face and he clears his throat. “Macy… shit still ain’t right in my head. Shit’s still a toss-up. But every day I’m trying. I got some shit to handle, last minute loose ends, and then it’s me, you, Sadé, and whatever we wanna do.”
“You make it sound so good,” I mutter, wrenching myself from his embrace. I wipe my cheeks hard before glaring at him.
