A leader.
A confidant.
A lover.
A visionary.
A listener.
A motivator.
A healer.
A planner.
A real solid money-making, gun-toting, heart-snatching, gut-arranging, gold grill wearing, pussy-pleasing ass man who belonged all to Orielle. Fuck what she said it was before; this was what it was now and would remain.
She didn’t like cheese in her eggs either. Not when they were scrambled. That was another thing Najee learned about her before making her a plate, then piling up one of his own. Becoming the man of the house at such a young age forced Najee to learn to cook. He didn’t mind it, plus Aunt Joyce had been the one to show him his way around the kitchen.
When they were done eating, they curled up together on the couch. Orielle had her legs tossed over his lap, watching the livestream church service on the sixty-five-inch TV. Swaying from side to side, Orielle sang along with the praise and worship team until the pastor began his sermon.
In the middle of paying her tithes and offering through text, she was interrupted by an incoming call from her mama. Rarely did Janelle call, and if she did, Orielle wished she hadn’t answered by the time they got off the phone. She was in a good mood today, and she prayed to God that she didn’t have to curse Janelle out.
“Hello,” Orielle answered, turning the volume on the TV down.
“Hey, honey. What’re you up to?” Janelle asked.
Orielle tried detecting what type of mood she was in, but she couldn’t. Her voice was chipper, but that didn’t mean she was happy about anything in particular. Trauma. Drunken days and nights of loud laughter that turned into belligerent shouts and hysterical cries had embedded themselves in her mind. Shaking away the memories, Orielle exhaled.
“Watching church service. You sound...excited.” She didn’t know what other word to use.
Janelle chuckled. “You could say that. I start a new position at work and just had to share the news with you.”
For what?Orielle wanted to ask her. She didn’t even know where she worked. That’s how strained their relationship was. Still, she was happy for her. Anything was better than drowning in a liquor bottle.
“That’s good to hear. Congrats. What position is it?”
“A recovery coach. Isn’t that amazing? All those years of struggling with my addiction, and now I get to help others,” she said, sounding genuinely happy.
Orielle cleared her throat and ignored the side eye Najee was giving her. She’d told him about the relationship with Janelle and knew how she felt about her. He wasn’t going to say anything, and neither was Orielle.
“Hello?” Janelle said.
“Yeah... yeah. I’m here. I’m sure whoever you help will be worth it.”
She hadn’t meant for her tone to be that dry, but Orielle couldn’t fake like she was happy for her mama. Janelle showed more excitement about helping a stranger out than she did her child.
“I’m sure it will be, too. What have you been up to?”
Instead of keeping her answer surface-level like she usually did, she decided to share, since they were celebrating and all.
“Working on new music. I’ve been in conversation with a few people about signing to a label. So, I’m pretty excited about that. One of my songs is in heavy rotation on the radio, too.”
“You know I don’t listen to that kind of music, but that’s nice of them to play it,” Janelle said.
Orielle let out a low, pissed off chuckle. More than anything, she was hurt, and the tears brimming in her eyes were proof.
“Man, what the fuck,” Najee grumbled, pissed off. “Hang up on her.”
