With her, I feel likeshewon, and then I wonder what she’s gonna do with the footage.
It’s like…I wanna trust her, and I know Ishouldtrust her, but given our history, I can’t. And I hate that.
I’m finishing my third set when my phone buzzes.
Bron
Tiff wants Raya’s phone number
Why?
Nigga idk. I guess they talked at the party
I can’t help but smile at that.
Aight I’ll ask
Ten seconds later, my phone rings.
“What?”
“Are we at that stage?” Bron teases. “Are we whipped now? We gotta check with the old ball and chain before we move?”
“Fuck you,” I say, laughing. “Nah, I ain’t just gon’ hand over my wife’s number to a rando without making sure she’s good with it.”
“Tiff ain’t no rando.”
“Yeah, let’s circle back to that in ‘bout a month, nigga.”
“Whatever. She’s cool. I like her, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“It’s early. You know how that goes. You used to, anyway.”
“Whatever. What you want?”
“Just checkin’ on you. I can’t check on you?”
I lean back on the bench. “I’m good.”
“Titus said you got some shit goin’ on at work.”
My eyes instantly drift to the stairs, but I’m still alone.
“Yeah, the project manager from the closeout team. She be on my ass, man. Nitpicking and shit. It feels personal.”
“Did you do something to piss her off?”
“Nah. I don’t know what the fuck she be on. I ain’t felt this stressed in a minute.”
“Hang in there, bruh. You got it.”
“Yeah…” I trail off, feeling unsatisfied. This is where I’d talk to Raya—if I felt comfortable talking to Raya about this, which I don’t. Talking to my boys is cool, but men don’t really let you vent like you want to. Thesuck it upmentality is ingrained too deep in us for any meaningful reassurance.
I’m sure Raya would give me that, but I can’t risk it.
After we hang up, I hear Raya walking around, so I put her grievance books on the backburner for tonight. Can’t have her catching me.
