“It’s a little amphibian. The kids love it. I don’t get it. They look weird in person, but the kids love to paint them, and they’re easy to put in different situations for my paint and sips. Let it be. Anyway, not the point. He was there. He painted.”
“How did that go?” Charisse asks.
“I did the class, and that was that. They painted.”
“You didn’t talk to him?”
“I don’t usually sit and talk with anybody. There’s little chit-chat as I paint, but it was a kid event. I had to entertain the kids.”
Porsche laughs. “And his big ass was in there? Did you have baby chairs? Please tell me there were baby chairs and he had to scrunch his big old long legs up in those chairs.”
“I did have baby chairs, but he found an adult chair,” I say, laughing at the thought of him sitting in one of those toddler chairs, looking like Goldilocks in the wrong chair.
“So you didn’t talk to him?” Porsche asks again.
“No, I didn’t. He was trying to talk to me after class, I think, but too many kids wanted to take pictures with me, and he left.”
“Did you want to talk to him?” Charisse asks.
I stop and think.
And the one thing that flashes in my mind is that party.
We were at a club. He knows I hate clubs. It’s not my scene. It’s not what I do, but he dragged me out there to hang out with the rest of his team and all of their girlfriends and wives.
And one girlfriend, not even a wife, came up to me and said something ugly.
I was ready to go.
But Javonte blew it off.
It seems small. My friends even told me it wasn’t that big of a deal. I could’ve talked to him about it, but it represented something bigger to me.
So I left.
And we haven’t spoken since.
He literally hasn’t called me since then.
“I don’t think so,” I tell them finally. “I put it behind me. I’m done.”
Charisse looks into the camera with an eyebrow raised.
Porsche claps. “Good girl. Give him dust. He doesn’t deserve you.”
I don’t know if Porsche is 100% right.
We had some fun. When it was Lily and Javonte, just a man and a woman in love, we worked.
He’s younger than me. And he’s rich and famous. But it worked.
When it was just us.
It’s the out and about that killed it for us.
We really loved each other.
“Are you sure you didn’t want to talk to him?” Porsche asks. “You didn’t even get a chance to cuss his ass out.”
