Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
I forked the greens on my plate. The bleakness was consuming. Still, it wasn’t as heinous as the pain.
I pushed the food down my throat. I could feel the disgust displayed on my bare face. Makeup was a luxury at this point. So was getting dressed. And thinking. And living.
Ishmael’s absence was damning. I’d gone my entire life without him. It was baffling how difficult navigating the last two days in the wake of his absence were.
Grief had me by the neck. It stole my joy. It stole my happiness. It stole my strength. It stole my will. It stole my Ishmael.
“Girl eat your fucking food and go get your nigga back. I’m so tired of you looking ugly. And raggedy.”
“Leave her alone, Rou. She’s going through something,” Rome chastised.
“Something is going through her. Who let her come outside dressed like this?”
I was clothed in a crewneck, sweats, and a pair of furry slides.
“You look fine,” Roaman argued.
“Don’t lie to her.” Roulette sipped from her drink.
“Must I remind you how sad you were when Israe–”
“Sad and ugly are two different things. So are sad and poorly dressed. It’s never that serious. The dick isn’t dead. It’s just upset. There’s always a chance if it’s still alive.”
“I agree,” Range protested.
“He needs time.”
“He told you that?” Range asked.
“Yes.”
“And since when did we start listening to niggas?” Roulette wanted to know.
I shrugged.
“You talked to him?” Rather inquired.
“I’ve called. He sent me to voicemail. Hours later he texted. Said he’s busy. Needs time.”
“Then give him time. I imagine it was not easy finding out–”
“He hired her. Then he fell in love with her. He’s not upset with her for doing her job. She promised him the election and kept her promise. It’s something deeper. Something he’s dealing with. And until he’s dealt with it, he will require time. Allow it. But, not too much time,” Roaman expressed.
“Or you could go get your man,” Roulette emphasized.
“Voluntarily or involuntarily.” Rugger lowered her fork onto her plate.
I shook my head.
“I agree with Roaman. He had to have known I would do everything in my power to get him in that office. We fell in love in the process. Still, I had a job to do. Even if that meant hurting his feelings.”
I lifted the martini to my lips and sipped.
“It’s just that I’m ovulating and– the dick… I need it more than my next breath.”
Cackling broke out around the table. Now, everyone understood my pain a bit more. We were women in our thirties, most of us at least, we understood the torture of ovulation.
I rubbed a hand across my chest, hoping the pain would subside. Ishmael’s face flashed before me as I closed my eyes. The anguish in his eyes. The disappointment on his face. The defeat in his stride.
My yearning cut me deeper every day. Whatever was happening between us, I despised. My calls were no longer going through. Neither were my texts.
I missed his voice. His touch. His laughter. His hands on my body. His head against my heart. Six days felt like a lifetime of silence.
“Ro?” Range called out. “Are you asleep?”
I wasn’t sure if the film was watching me or I was watching it.
“No.”
My bed reminded me of Ishmael’s absence. I crawled into Range’s night after night.
“Are you okay?”
I sucked in air and released it slowly.
“No. No, I’m not,” I admitted.
My eyes burned with tears. I wiped them away before they could fall.
“Aw, babe. You want to talk about it?”
Shrugging, I revealed, “I’m not sure there’s anything to talk about.”
“How you’re feeling… your plan… how you’ll handle this just like you handle everything else.”
“This is different, Range. He is different. I’ve never felt anything remotely close to what I feel for Ishmael.
I feel awful for disappointing him, but I do not regret my decisions.
Berkeley needed him. I couldn’t chance him not winning.
He had to. The second he wired that money, the election was fixed. I’m a fixer. It’s what I do.”
“He understands that.”
“Then why are we at odds?”
“I don’t know, baby.”
“He’s never been upset with me. If this is how it feels, I never want him to be.”
“I hope you don’t chew me out for saying it, but–” Range paused, “I understand him.”
“Me too. I do. I jus– I want to talk about it. I want to work through it. I want to apologize for not being more transparent. I don’t want to be here while he’s there with all of this on his conscience.”
“He’s settling into his new position. I say give it another week. Give him the space we both know he could use. If he hasn’t cooled down, then go for what we know. Don’t give him a choice. Force him to acknowledge what’s happening between you two.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all you can do.”
“You’re tired of me crawling in your bed, huh?”
“No. It gives the illusion that I’m not alone.”
“But when I leave?”
“I’ll have to face the music,” she admitted.
“Is it music you can get used to or a sound you hope to change?”
She sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest.
“I’ve been wanting to change the station forever, Ro. But, it’s not that simple, you know?”
“I do.”
“We’re not like the others. The average man wouldn’t know what to do with me. And, he’d probably run the other way once he meets my family.”
“Teddy is intimidating.” I chuckled.
“Exactly. I’m ready for a person. But, it must be the right person. My person.”
“It’ll come. You’ve put it into the universe. He’ll come.”
“You sound so sure.”
“Before Ishmael… I mean right before Ishmael… I wanted to change the station too. I was taking on date after date, hoping someone would adjust the nob. It wasn’t happening. Chem appeared. Wanted to know what was occupying my thoughts. I was honest. I shared my feelings.
“I told him how lonely I felt and how much I wanted someone to share my time with. Hours later, I walked into Ishmael’s office. It wasn’t the first time I’d saw his face. But, I knew then that it wouldn’t be the last. I’d have the privilege for the rest of my life.
“It didn’t happen until I was honest with myself and said it out loud. Like you just did. It’s coming, baby. He’s coming. And, he will be a brave fella. A fine fella. One who can handle you and everyone that comes with you. Don’t worry, Range.”
“When you put it that way, I guess I’d better get my shit together.”
“You’re as put together as put together gets, honey.”
Range laughed, pulling the blanket over her body.
“I don’t disagree. I don’t.”
“Because you can’t.”
She tossed her hands up, surrendering.
I gripped the lime between my fingers, holding the small glass steady in the other hand. There were so many reasons to celebrate. I couldn’t allow my transgressions to deplete me. In a single month, my mother had birthed three girls.
November 06 was Roulette’s day.
November 16th was Range’s day.
November 29th was my day.
We chose to celebrate together. With Range’s birthday mid-month, our celebration fell closer to her born day by default.
“To Range.”
“And Rou.”
“And Ro.”
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
Our glasses touched and then hit the table simultaneously. I kissed the rim, flipping the glass over until the contents were emptied. I followed up with the lime, squeezing it into my mouth.
“Argh,” I groaned, hating the taste of tequila flowing down my throat, but loving the effects on my nervous system.
It numbed the pain. One week of not hearing from or seeing Ishmael had turned into two.
I didn’t have the gumption to fly to Berkeley and demand his time or his love or his energy.
The fear of returning alone was too crippling.
So, I stayed. I stayed where I was loved, cherished, understood, welcomed, and supported.
“Ahhhhh!” Tiana squealed.
August’s position altered immediately. He obliterated the space between them. I observed as he leaned over, whispering the unknown in her ear. The smile on her face revealed the nature of his words.
A pain soared through me. Drunken nights weren’t meant to end alone.
Neither were they meant to end in your sister’s bed.
Drunken nights were meant for dick sucking and riding my man into oblivion.
My mouth watered at the thought of Ishmael.
Post-period hormones were raging. My center was throbbing.
I slid my phone from my purse and unlocked the screen. Instagram was my destination. I played the story I’d posted an hour ago. It wasn’t the video I was interested in. It was the viewers. I swiped up, scanning the long list until the names began to blur.
“Shit.”
I stopped scrolling when the familiar profile image appeared. The handle I’d created was next to it. Bold. Black. Breathtaking.
Ishmael.
I quickly added him to my close friends. I cleared the other names on the list, promising to add them all later. Those women were amongst me. They knew exactly what I was doing and how I was feeling. I didn’t need to document it for them.
I scanned my images for the one Range had snapped of me after entering our section. In the silk number trimmed in lace and pumps with a feathery strap to match, I held my hand toward the camera, reaching for it. The flash was low, giving it a soft yet vintage vibe that I loved so much.
I tapped the screen to add text. My fingers moved a mile a minute. The music drowned out in the background. So did everything and everyone around me. Ishmael wasn’t taking my calls. Neither was he accepting my texts. However, I was still on his heart. He was still on mine.
Loving comes so naturally I almost forget that there are other feelings just as potent.
Like, missing you. It’s taxing. So is your absence.
I wake up wanting you. I lay down wanting you.
My heart is hanging on by a piece of nylon thread.
Though strong, I doubt it can keep bearing the weight of us.
Come get me. Come love me. I don’t like it out here. It’s cold. Come home.
I uploaded the image without a tune to match. I didn’t need distractions. I needed understanding. And, I needed my man.