That was for her. She had to remember how he claimed he was coming back and instead left her on read and got with someone else. Someone so far from who she was. His comment was a checkmate to her anger.
“Divorced, actually. That shit was never supposed to work.”
Shit.
She nodded slowly. This was so much easier when she lived in a world where he wasn’t available. “Sorry to hear that. I should get going.”
She looked back down at her phone, hating that Malik wouldn’t just leave her alone like he’d done every year before when he took his mother on this trip. Jahlil’s words pulled her back.
“Need me to walk with you?”
Emani snapped her eyes up at him. “The days of me needing you are long gone, Jahlil. Please make this week easy for all of us and just leave me alone.”
Her feet quickened away from him and she answered the phone. “What, Malik?”
“Don’t hang up on me. You need to get that shit together. What’s all the fuckin’ noise?” he barked. “You’re there to perform, why the fuck are you shaking your ass around that muhfucka?”
“Again,” Emani huffed, aggravation melting into anger and knocking at the door of her trauma. “Who the fuck you talkin’ to, nigga?”
“My wife!” Malik shouted back.
“I’m not your wife yet. Don’t talk to me like that. I didn’t do shit to you. Aren’t you in Eastover with your mother? Why are you bothering me?”
“Because there are videos of my woman shaking her ass all around that nigga. Let’s not even talk about these photos. You stupid, Mani?”
“Excuse me?” Emani asked in disbelief, a dry laugh grabbing her throat in a vice grip. “What did you say? Repeat that.”
“I asked if you stupid. You know what this looks like?”
“Does it look like you staying out all night? Sneaking around, whispering in closets, going off on me because some nigga I used to know came back into town?” Emani argued, ready to jump through the phone and put her hands on him. “Tell me if it does?”
“Emani,” Malik gritted before sighing. “This ain’t that.”
“You’re right. It’s not.”
“Keep that nigga from around you,” Malik finalized. “Before this turns into something else.”
“You’d do good keeping your demands at a minimum, Malik. Enjoy the beach,” she returned, hanging up and stomping up the steps to the JoyBed. Unzipping her fanny pack, she dug through the minimal contents to find the key Carson was supposed to give her. She found nothing but the suede lining of her bag, a hair tie and a tube of lip plumping lip gloss. “Damn it, Carson.”
She leaned against the railing, tapping her favorites to call Carson. The kickback was live, prompting her to call him back-to-back while watching the carefree college students dance in the street, laugh and live in the moment. She remembered when she was that girl to a certain extent. They were kids with a kid.
She laughed softly at the thought of Andrew hopping through the street behind his brother.
“You good?” Jahlil’s voice came out in a flood of concern, like she locked it into her mind and couldn’t erase it. It froze her.
“I-I need Carson,” she stated. “He has the key.”
“I’ll bring it,” Jahlil assured. Emani could hear him moving around. “You safe?”
“No. I’ll come back and get it from him,” Emani opposed. He couldn’t be close to her. He couldn’t drench her space with his scent. “I’m fine, Jahlil. I don’t need you to-”
“Ay, C,” Jahlil shouted over the noise. “Shit, my bad.”
Noise ushered in the call dropping.
Emani groaned, dropping her head. “Great. Just great.”
She sat on the bench and pushed the blonde tresses of the wig she wore out of her face. She went back to watching the people enjoy themselves and let the stir of memories, feelings, and traumas tighten the grip around her.
