Cocky

Chapter 25 #2

“And yes,” I rush on, “it’s a mess. And yes, I should’ve told Za already. But I can’t bring myself to choose, and I know I’ll have to choose.”

Mum’s jaw tightens. She steps fully into the bathroom now, lowering her voice.

“It’s either ya choose,” she says quietly, “or the universe choose for ya.”

I swallow.

“Look,” she continues, softer now, “I know yuh know ‘em all ya life. And I sure he a nice man. But look at what yuh gotta go through just to be with him. Sneakin’. Lyin’. Hurtin’ di people ya love. Yuh cyan have it all every time, Francine.”

I nod in agreement. “I know.”

“Then learn sense!” She commands, then turns to leave like she’s said her piece and there’s nothing more to add.

I’m left alone with the mirror.

It stares back at me. Haunting me.

I grip the sink harder than I need to.

I still could fix this.

I could tell Za.

I could stop seeing Jabari.

I could choose.

And immediately my chest tightens.

Because fixing it means losing something I don’t want to lose.

You can’t have it all every time.

My mum’s words echo.

I hate that she’s right.

I lean closer to the mirror, eyes flicking over the faint dark circles under them. I look like shit.

And the worst part?

I don’t want to choose.

I want them both because I value them both differently but equally.

I want Za to forgive me before she even knows why.

I want Jabari without consequences.

I want my friendship intact and my heart full.

I really do want it all.

Wow. I huff out a humourless breath. Fuck it. I don’t have to decide tonight. It can wait another day. Besides, I’ll probably go to hell for this anyway. And the road to hell is littered with bad decisions.

I straighten up, smooth my shirt, rehearse a neutral face I’ve perfected over months of sneaking around and dodging emotional landmines. Yet, I open the bathroom door and walk straight into a war zone.

Za’s voice is already raised. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

Her mum barely looks impressed. “A part in small production?”

“Yes,” Za snaps. “That’s what I said.”

Her mum sighs. “Chinaza, you need to think long-term. Theatre is not stable. You do not even make enough to support yourself! How much longer will you live off your friend?”

My stomach drops. “As long as she needs to.”

“It’s okay Cici,” Za says. “It’s my dream and I’m taking responsibility for it.”

“Dreams don’t pay bills.”

I flinch like the words hit me instead.

Za laughs, but it’s brittle. “Funny how you never say that when it’s Jabari.”

The room stills.

I feel it before I understand it, this is family business so I got to stay out of it—Here we fucking go.

Her mum stiffens. “That is different.”

“How?” Za demands. “Because he’s successful now? Because you can brag about him at church?”

“That boy worked hard—”

“So have I!” Za’s voice breaks, and my heart goes with it. “But every time I do something, it’s ‘be realistic’ or ‘don’t waste time’ or ‘think about marriage.’ You back him more than you back me and it’s not fair!”

My chest tightens. This is wrong. This is all wrong.

I step forward without thinking. “Okay. Okay. Everyone breathe.”

My mum moves too, palms up. “Exactly. Enough. This is not how we talk.”

“I’m leaving,” Za announces. “Frankie. Let’s go.”

“Zee,” I say softly. “Calm down, okay? Y’all can talk this out. This is big, you got a part. That's all that matters.”

“Tuh! Money also matters,” Her mum rubs her temples. “Chinasaokwu, I worry about your future.”

Za clenches and unclenches her fists repeatedly. I want to say something, I swear I do, but it’s not my place. And I can’t force her to speak up.

I can see her fighting to keep her temper in check and biting her tongue to stay respectful. “Let’s just go.”

Oh Za.

Something inside me gives way.

I look at her properly then. Not as my best friend, but as a woman standing on the edge, begging the people she loves to believe in her. Begging them to choose her.

And it hits me, sudden and ugly and undeniable.

I was wrong.

The road to hell isn’t littered with bad decisions.

It’s littered with the shattered hearts of the people you betray.

And Za is right here needing me.

So for the first time since this mess started, the choice stops being abstract.

It’s standing in front of me.

After hours of listening to her express herself over and over again, Za finally cries herself to sleep in my arms. Her fingers still loosely curled in the sleeve of my top, I lie there staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of her breathing.

I wait.

Ten minutes.

Then twenty.

I ease her hand off me gently and sit up in the dark. My chest feels tight, as if I’ve swallowed something I can’t digest.

I could stay.

I could climb back under the covers and forget Jabari flying back for me. I could choose her right now.

But that wouldn’t be fair either.

Because while I do love her, I care about him also and pretending it isn’t true won’t make it disappear.

In the kitchen, I open my freezer and fish out the sorrel pops from mum.

I take all three.

If I’m breaking up with him, (Yes I’m referring to it as a break up) I shouldn’t be bringing him comfort food from my mother.

But I know how his face lights up when he tastes them, so I wrap them carefully, put them in my bag and slip out of the flat, leaving a note on the kitchen counter that says: Staying at Mum’s. Love you.

One last lie.

The night air hits my face and I breathe in deep, trying to clear my head.

I’m ending it.

When he lands, I’ll tell him:

This is wrong and I can’t keep pretending it isn’t just because it feels good.

On the walk to his place, I stop at the late shop on the corner and grab some things his place needs. By the time I reach his building and let myself in, my resolve feels strong again.

It’s quiet inside and his flat still smells like him. I stand in the kitchen for a moment, unloading my haul from the shops onto the counter.

You are not here to play house, I remind myself. You are here to say goodbye.

I put the sorrel pops in his freezer gently, arranging them neatly.

Then I open his cupboards.

He barely has anything.

Of course he doesn’t because he lives like someone who expects to leave at any moment which makes sense with his career.

I pull out rice and seasoning. Thankfully, I picked up chicken because for such a big man, his house never has protein.

I cook. And while I don’t rush it my chest aches the entire time.

This is the last meal I’ll cook in his kitchen. This is the last time I’ll move around his space like this.

I wipe down the counters when I’m done. I plate the food and cover it so it stays warm.

Then I open the flour and sugar.

Cookies.

He eats them like he’s never experienced sugar before. I mix the dough slowly, hands steady even though my thoughts are not.

You could stay.

You could tell Za the truth and deal with the fallout.

You could fight for this.

I close my eyes.

And what?

Watch her break? Watch her look at me differently? Watch yet another person in her life choose him?

I cannot survive that.

The cookies go into the oven.

The flat smells warm now.

I go upstairs and open his drawer, pulling out a soft cotton set of pajamas because I know he hates synthetic fabric against his skin. I fold them neatly and place them at the foot of the bed.

Then I grab a towel and put it in the warmer.

It’s cold out tonight.

He’ll need it after he showers off the airplane smell.

Right.

I should shower. Cold water should calm this fire in me.

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

Now I’m just clean and cold and nervous.

I stand there staring at the bed, thinking of everything I’ve done.

This is insanity.

I’m preparing him for comfort before I rip it away.

Am I cruel?

Or am I trying to prove to myself that I can love someone properly even if I can’t keep them?

I sit down slowly on the edge of the mattress.

My throat burns.

I love him.

There. I admit it in the quiet.

I still love him.

I love the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

I love the way he brags about me to people.

I love how he gets competitive over fictional characters.

I love how he showers immediately after every social interaction.

And I love Za.

I love her in a way that built me.

In a way that held me together when I was falling apart.

I cannot be the reason she questions her worth. I cannot be the reason she thinks loyalty means nothing.

My chest tightens painfully again.

I think I’m gonna have a stroke.

I lie back on his bed, wearing his tee and nothing else, staring at the ceiling.

When he lands, I’ll talk first.

I won’t let him talk me out of it.

I won’t let him promise things.

I won’t let him say “we’ll figure it out.”

Because figuring it out just means choosing.

And if I choose him, I lose her.

If I choose her, I lose him.

And I already know which loss I can survive.

My body feels heavy now.

Exhaustion creeping in finally.

I tell myself I’ll just close my eyes for a second.

Just enough to steady myself and rehearse the words.

Bari, this has to end.

Bari, I love you but—

I press my face into his pillow and inhale. The scent settles something in me that I don’t want settled.

This is the last night.

The last time I’ll be here like this. The last time I’ll prepare something for him. The last time I’ll allow myself to love him without consequence.

And somewhere between that thought and the sound of the oven timer clicking off downstairs—

I fall asleep.