Big Bro:
Work my ass. Its valentine’s weekend. I know they ain’t sent yo ass all the way to Africa to be Yogi bear.
You with a shorty ain’t you?
I smirked and looked at Harlowe as she pointed her phone out the window, recording the scenery.
Me:
Nah, some brand trip shit Harlowe dragged me to.
Big Bro:
LMAO. That girl stays dragging you into some shit.
Tell my first love I said hi.
I shook my head at his wild ass. Harlowe did not mess with Marcus like that. She didn’t hate him, but he was the start of her relationship trauma. So repeating that line was a first-class ticket to getting cussed out.
Me:
You go jokes, huh.
Big Bro:
Nah, you got jokes. Shorty break up with me and keep you. Got you all out of the country and shit. Damn.
I shook my head. Marcus always felt a way about me and Harlowe staying tight. He’d got slick about it once, and I checked him quick. We ain’t circled back to that conversation since.
Me:
You the one that fumbled her. Don’t point the finger now.
Big Bro:
I know I fumbled her, nigga. I’m just saying.
You ain’t have to destiny swap a nigga.
Destiny swap was crazy, but he wasn’t all the way wrong. I was out of the country, role playing her man with our first kiss still sitting on my lips. If Marcus knew the lines were blurring like this, he’d be waiting on my porch when I got back, talking about, “Run me my fade, nigga.”
Me:
Hey, I ain’t have to fumble my friend just because you did.
Big Bro:
Yeah, yeah.
Ma got your spare, right? I need to get those tools.
Me:
Yea. Return my shit in a timely manner.
And let Ma know I’m alive. I’ll hit her when we get settled.
Big Bro:
