Me: Yet, you went.
RJ: Cut me some slack.
Me: No, nigga, fuck you. Treating me like I’m a side piece. The only reason I came was busy you asked me to. I don’t have no purpose being here. You playing in my fucking face.
RJ: How am I playin in yo face Synthia? You know what the fuck going on! Let’s be clear! I’d rather be wit you.
Me: whatever nigga.
RJ: You know how I really feel! I ain’t finna keep explainin what the fuck goin on.
I didn’t respond. I left him on read. The three dots appeared and he sent me another message, before spamming me. Then, nothing! Ignoring him, I sat my phone face down and put my phone on do not disturb.
Once my pasta was finished, I carried it out to the deck, settling into one of the cushioned lounge chairs overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange, pink yellow and purple. The water sparkled in the sky, fading in the light. It was so beautiful. So romantic. Yet, here I am sitting alone, eating pasta out a bowl, while the man I was falling for was at dinner with another woman.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I took a bite out of my pasta. It was good—perfectly seasoned. The sauce tangy, thick and rich. But I could barely taste it. My mind was too busy being swooned around Romelo.
For just a moment, I took my mind off of him and took a sip of my wine. I wasn’t intending on drinking the whole bottle, but I don’t regret it. I set my plate down on the table, after playing around with my food. My appetite completely gone now.
By now was darker now. The mood hung low over the water, casting a silver path over the stars. Even at night, it was beautiful. It was the kind of night you shouldn’t spend alone. Yet I was.
I stood up from the table and trotted back into the house to throw my food in the trash and clean up after myself. The buzz feel swept over me, but I poured myself another glass and grabbed my phone. It was still on do not disturb, but it didn’tstop me from seeing the messages. There were a few from Romelo, including a missed call, none from Trecee and one from Mimi. Leaning on the kitchen counter, I tapped on her contact first.
Mimi: Bitch this dinner is awkward asf! They’re barely talking to each other. Trecee keeps trying to take pics and he keeps dodging her. Oliver and I just want to eat and gtfo lmfao.
I giggled before responding.
Me: Sounds fucking miserable.
Mimi: It is! You made the right call by not coming. This is second hand embarrassment. I’m about to fake a stomach ache so we can leave. Romelo done went to the bathroom, so many times.
Me: LMFAO!
I set my phone down, feeling tipsy. The only thing I wanted to do was take a bath and got to bed, but that was short lived. The wine was causing my mind to blur, so I decided to rest in my room. That was also short lived, because voices began to filter through the house—Mimi’s laughter, Oliver’s low rumble, Mimi’s loud cackle and Trecee’s sharp tone.
“I can’t believe you embarrassed me like that,” Trecee was saying.
“How the fuck did I embarrass you bruh,” Romelo responded, his voice tight with barely controlled frustration. “You embarrass yourself, goofy as mothafucka!”
“How? By trying to have a nice dinner with my boyfriend?”
“By makin’ a fuckin’ scene ‘cuz I ain’t want to a million fuckin’ pictures of you holdin’ yo fuckin’ drink,” he shot back.
“Oh my god,” she snapped. “You’re such a fuckin’ asshole!”
“Then leave bruh!” His voice rose, echoing throughout the house. “If I’m such an asshole, then get the fuck out. Go home! I’ll pay for your flight. But fuckin’ torturin’ the both of us by pretending this is something that it ain’t! You know what the fuck goin’ on bruh!”
Heavy, suffocating silence lingered through the air.
Then the sound of heels stomping down the hallway. A door slamming.
I sat on my bed, frozen, my heart racing.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on my door.
“Synthia? You woke?”
