“It’s cool, bro?—”
“How the fuck is that cool?” I asked Keith, cutting him off. “She didn’t come home. Her girls not answering the phone, her text messages are not delivering, that shit is not fuckin’ cool.”
“Maybe she stayed with them,” Sammy added.
“That’s cool, then why the fuck is she not answering my call?!”
Them niggas didn’t have a response to that.
We walked inside, and they tried to call Islah from their phones. She still didn’t pick up.
I sent my cousin a message to get her to the house to watch Amir for me and paced around the kitchen smoking, waiting for her to get there.
“Maybe she got cold feet,” Sammy expressed. Keith put his head down.
“What the fuck do you mean she got cold feet? The same woman I talked all the shit out with, the same woman who agreed to marry me in a week? She don’t have no fuckin’ cold feet.”
Sammy threw his hands up in the air. “Aye, nigga, I am just trying to help you out. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
I didn’t say anything else to them niggas, I just kept calling her phone over and over, and sending messages that kept bouncing back, making me want to throw the fucking phone.
Once Katie got to the house, I assured Amir that I was good, then I walked outta the house with Sammy and Keith and got in my truck, driving straight to Kenya’s house, but the whole ride over there I wasn’t even really hearing them talking. My mind kept running through every message I sent Islah and every call I made that went straight to voicemail, like she had just disappeared off the face of the earth.
At first, I kept telling myself it was nothing. Maybe she decided to stay with them instead and just forgot to tell me. Maybe her phone died. I tried to hold on to all those small maybes because the other thoughts were starting to creep in, and I didn’t like where that shit was going.
By the time we pulled up, I was already out of the truck before it fully stopped, which wasn’t right.
I walked straight to the door and started banging like the police.
Kenya opened the door, confused, hair all over her head, lookin’ half asleep, and we barged in to see Deja and Renee still laid up on the couch.
“Where is she?” I asked, looking around her crib.
All three of them looked at me, confused.
“Where is who? Islah?” Kenya asked.
I nodded.
“She left the club early last night, said she was tired,” Renee chimed in.
“Yeah, I told her the driver was on the way. She walked out and said she was gonna hit us when she got home,” Kenya added.
“Well, did she hit any one of y’all?” They all checked their phones, then looked back up at me.
“No, no, she didn’t,” Deja expressed.
I nodded. “She didn’t come home! Where the fuck is the driver?” I yelled.
“Hold on, I’ma go and call him right now.”
Kenya walked off to the kitchen while Deja and Renee looked at each other, confused, and I paced the floor.
Deja and Renee talked back and forth, sayin’ her phone probably died, but that has nothing to do with her not coming home.
After a few minutes, Kenya came outta the kitchen. She had a look on her face that I didn’t like.
“The driver said he never saw her. He said he didn’t say anything because he just thought one of us changed our mind.”
