I cooked.
My moms had taught me when I was young. It was nothing fancy, just real food made with intention — and I hadn’t had a reason to use any of that in a long time because cooking for yourself when you’re living the life I had been living felt like a waste of time and energy. Tonight felt different. I cleaned my apartment, set my small table with the two chairs I barely used, put a bottle of red wine in the center that I had picked up on the way home. I made pasta, a real salad, garlic bread. Simple but put together with care. I hoped it said something about where my head was without me having to explain it.
I showered and got dressed. Not a suit, I wasn’t that type of nigga unless I was going to court or some shit. Just clean dark jeans and a fitted black shirt. Something that said I made an effort without overdoing it.
Then I sat down and waited.
Eight came.
I checked my phone. No message. No call.
Eight thirty.
I straightened things on the table that didn’t need straightening and told myself she was just running late and that Brielle had never been the most punctual person, but that didn’t mean anything.
Nine.
I poured myself a glass of the wine and sat back down.
Ten.
The food had been sitting long enough that it wasn’t what it was when I made it and I covered it anyway because letting go of it felt like letting go of something else.
Eleven.
I stopped checking my phone.
When midnight came and the apartment was still quiet I poured the rest of the wine into my glass and drank it slow. Then I looked at the table I had set for two people and sat with what that meant.
Not angry. Not even fully surprised if I was being honest with myself. Just tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
I loved her. I had said it out loud for the first time in my life and meant every word of it and she hadn’t come.
That told me everything I needed to know.
I washed the dishes and put the food away, then took the bottle to the couch and finished what was left of it. I made a decision in the quiet of my apartment that I should have made a long time ago.
This was the last time.
The last time I waited on Brielle. The last time I set a table, made a call or said something out loud that left me sitting alone after midnight with an empty wine bottle and an answer I already knew. I had loved her since we were teenagers and that love was real. It always would be real but real love and the right timing were two completely different things and I couldn’t keep bleeding in the space between them.
She had her world and I had mine. So, maybe that was just always going to be the truth of it no matter how much either one of us wanted this.
I put the bottle down and leaned my head back on the couch and looked at the ceiling.
Melo and Mazi needed to get settled on that campus in less than a month. That was my main concern.
Then Monday morning I had a gym to walk into and a trainer named Coach Ray waiting on me. I had the judge’s order that was also the best opportunity anybody had ever handed me in my life.
That was enough. That had to be enough.
Brielle was going to have to be something I let go from here on out because I didn’t have room anymore to carry it any other way.
I closed my eyes and let the apartment stay quiet around me.
And that was the last night I waited on anybody. She had me fucked up. I knew exactly who I was. But I allowed my love for Bri to turn me into a nigga that I never wanted to be. If she didn’t want to be all in with me, I had no choice but to move on and let this shit go. Being a good guy never got niggas nowhere. And thebad part about it was that I was really trying with her ass. At this point, it no longer mattered. I was done.
Present Day
