9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
The steam from the shower brushes against my skin as I step under the water. I can feel the heat warming up my outside, making it match the burning frustration within me. To think Mira had a hand in what happened last night hurts, but I’ve finally found the reason Errol gets under my skin. He is a complete asshole. At the end of the day, no one told him to say the things he said to me.
Entitled. He thinks I’m entitled? I can add that to the growing list of words he has used to describe me. This one stings. As a plus-size Black woman, I have had to fight for everything I should have just gotten. For him to think this confidence is arrogance is infuriating. I’m scrubbing my body so roughly it shakes me from my thoughts. I rinse, trying to let my annoyance slide off me as easily as the soap does. Once I’m clean and drying off, I still can’t see past all the feelings clouding my eyes.
Clothes don’t bring me the same happiness they usually do. I barely contemplate the look. Instead, I just throw on jeans and a sweater. I finish getting ready with little flair, grab my jacket and purse, and leave to make my way downtown.
Today is Monty’s first big performance, and despite the shit-show that was yesterday, I promised her I would be there. The artist she is performing with is on the come up, so the venue is big enough to be noteworthy, but still small enough that if I don’t show up early, I might not get a good spot. So I’m standing in line, hair still wet, with thirty minutes to go before doors open.
Despite my best efforts, my mind returns to the conversation last night. He thought I changed the script? He thought me, in my minor position, thought it was my job to make these calls? I know I would never do something like that, but clearly he doesn’t. Why would he if he believed Mira telling him it was me? How could she do that? Having been friends for seven years, there’s a certain level of trust that is supposed to exist there. How can she throw that away to not get blamed for something that was her doing?
The line moves at pace with my thoughts as I sludge through all the questions that rise up in place of each one I think I answer. The radiating hurt doesn’t go away until I make it into the location, and joy takes it’s place. The show starts, and a smile instantly comes to my face while watching them perform.
When Monty dances, it’s like seeing the music come alive. Every part of her body thrums with the lyrics and beats, illustrating the way you should feel about the song.
Enthralled by her performance, my mind takes a break from the thoughts and lets me focus on her. As her arms move into various positions, her waist swivels in the opposite direction. She leans back and kicks her feet up, landing in a way that defies gravity. Her face is a mask of the harsh movements, despite the smile lining her eyes. I know I should be watching the singer, but I can’t look away from her.
When the show ends, I jump up and down to get her attention. With a nod, she confirms she sees me before moving backstage to change. I wait outside, keeping my mind trained on what I just saw instead of last night.
“Hey,” Monty says, turning me to face her.
“Oh my god! You were amazing.” I throw my arms around her, pushing all my excitement for her accomplishment into my hug.
“Thank you, thank you.” She bows, her braids cascading over her head to almost touch the ground. I pull her into another hug, not yet done with praising her performance.
“Honestly, we should celebrate.”
She nods and we walk down the street. I point at a bar that a lot of the concert goers seem to be hitting up, and we head in that direction.
“How did it feel?” I ask as we settle at a table. Her lips pull apart as she shakes her head in disbelief.
“It felt good. I dance for social media and teach some classes, but nothing is like a live crowd.”
I can’t get over how good she was and express it to her over and over again as we order drinks. Just as they hit the table, something unexpected also joins them as two men walk over to us.
“Hi there,” the one closest to me says as he deposits his drink onto the table like he was invited. I look up into half-lidded eyes of smokey gray.
“Uh, hello,” I say.
Monty looks at the one closest to her, eyeing him up and down. I wait for her to inform him that she has a boyfriend, but instead she moves over, inviting him to sit down.
“My name is Josh,” Gray Eyes say to me, before sliding into the last open chair. Extending his hand, he offers it for me to shake. I decline, looking to try and catch Monty’s eye. She is too busy engaging in conversation with the man next to her to even look in my direction, leaving me alone to deal with this.
“What’s your name?” Josh asks, recovering from my first rejection.
“Farrah.” I turn and inspect him a little closer. Pink trails across his pale skin, showing that I might have embarrassed him a little. Other than that, he is handsome. With dark curls and a strong jaw. I wait for him to try to flirt again as I take a sip of my drink.
“You’re hot,” he says while leaning in. The music is loud enough that he has to raise his voice for me to be able to hear him.
I incline a little towards him to make sure I can get every word. Despite the fact that his assertion is obvious, I still appreciate the compliment.
“Thank you.”
“Do you dance, too?”
They recognized Monty from the stage. That would explain the eager look in Josh’s friends eyes. I shake my head, letting the conversation die. Josh resuscitates it, asking me question after question. Despite my one worded answers, he keeps trying. When phones start to come out and Monty and the other one exchange numbers, I know what Josh is going to ask next.
“Can I call you sometime?”
I have given him no reason to think there is interest on my side, but part of me feels bad for outright saying no. I still say it, not wanting to continue this anymore. I expect him to take back his earlier compliment and remark on my weight, instead he just shrugs and stands up. They leave, and I turn my questioning glare on Monty.
“What was that?” I ask.
She widens her eyes, as if the action alone would speak to her innocence.
I widen mine back as I push for her to answer.
“Me and Charlie broke up,” she says, before downing half her drink.
“What? When?” I need a swallow of my own to wash down this information.
“Two days ago.”
Having seen her since then, the lack of her breakdown surrounding this development astounds me. How come she seemed so put together like nothing happened?
“Are you okay?” Asking the most important thing, I leave my need for more information at the wayside to focus on her feelings.
For the first time since she got off stage, her grin drops and her shoulders sag.
“I don’t know.” Her freckled cheek rests in the palm of her hand.
She opens up and tells me about all the fights they have been having. How unsupportive he has been since she moved. How hard it is to get in contact with him sometimes. She talks about how all the relationship problems she saw him have when she was his friend are rearing their head in their coupling now. I listen intently, holding her hand across the table as she lays it all out.
“I told him if he can’t handle communicating like an adult, I can’t be with him. His response was to ignore me for three days, so I texted him and told him it’s over.”
I shake my head, sorry to hear their relationship has come to this.
“That’s terrible. I really thought the love you shared as friends would push him to do better.”
But honestly, why would it? Knowing someone before you date them doesn’t change the ways in which they are damaged. Maybe that was the problem with me and Christian, too. I expected the way he was as a friend would translate the same in a relationship.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to talk about it. I still don’t, so let’s just drop it. What’s done is done, and I’m determined to get over his ass.”
I nod, agreeing to her terms, knowing when not to push her. She finishes off the martini and quickly orders another.
“What about you? That man is adorable, and you are very single.”
I knew this would eventually come up when I clocked her watching me turn him down. A breath pushes past my lips, this topic sitting heavy in my chest.
“I’m just not ready.” While my relationship may have only been a year old, the feelings were built up over a lot longer. Letting that go and walking into someone else isn’t going to be easy, and it certainly isn’t going to happen over a few cocktails.
“Even for a fling?” She looks at me, her eyes suggesting all the options Josh could offer.
My legs twitch with the urge to be thrown over my head, but still the idea seems like too much of a commitment.
“Even that.”
“What do you think it will take for you to get over Christian?”
I shrug, not exactly sure of the answer. Hopefully, time will heal the rest of these lingering pains, and I’ll eventually be able to openly love someone else again. Right now, the only thing I think is they will betray me like he did, and that doesn’t seem fair to assume.
We stay for a couple more hours, bemoaning about the terribleness that is dating men, then we head back to the house. Once there, the length of the day has me feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. With Christian on my mind, and Errol never having left it, I’m stuck in a state of anger and sadness. All it took was one conversation from both of them. Had Errol just come and asked me about the changes, he could have found out the truth without yelling and making a scene. If Christian would just talk to me, I’d finally let him go and move on. Why do men suck at communication?
Falling into my leftover pizza from the bar, I eat away my frustration until I’m full and content. That is before I remember that in one more day I’ll have to come face to face with Errol and deal with everything. For now, I try to push it to the back of my mind.