“Basically the same thing she tried to instill in us times a thousand,” I interjected, beginning to find the whole thing just as eye-opening as Mila had originally insisted.
Another piece of hair fell as she agreed, “Right. So that’s how she went into the relationship with your dad, and mine.”
“But neither of our dads messed around on her, to our knowledge,” I defended, a fact that was making it difficult for everything to curl over in my head.
Still, Jamila did her best to make sense of things when she replied, “Neither of them were real “providers” either, though. And if that’s what she believed men were solely supposed to be, I can see why those relationships went left.”
“That still doesn’t make what she said the other night, nor what she did, okay,” I told her, refusing to let any of that go just because grandma had messed up her head the same way she did ours.
I was grateful that Mila agreed, “It doesn’t. But after sharing all of this with me, she sort of froze up, went quiet. Almost like she was realizing the flaws in her logic, the flaws in grandma’s logic, in real time. And I’m not saying she’s suddenly reformed or anything like that, but she might be coming around soon.”
“Well I wish her the best of luck,” I offered, not investing any more energy into Jamila’s optimism based on one little revelation that I hadn’t even gotten from the horse’s mouth.
But leave it to my little sister to try and bridge the gap anyway by suggesting, “You should talk to her.”
“Definitely should’ve gotten that refill,” I thought, letting out a frustrated grunt as I replied, “I knew that was coming. I knew her getting in your head about all this would somehow turn into, “Give her a chance, Jay”, “She’s your mother, Jay”, “She’s not that bad outside of the fact that she brought your cheating ex-husband to dinner…”.”
Yanking my head back by the leftover weave, Mila snapped, “Bitch, will you relax? I didn’t say she’s the only option on your fuckin’ phone-a-friend list. I just said you should talk to her. Now if that’s tomorrow, or if it’s five years from now is up to you. But I just thought you’d find all of this as interesting as I did and possibly want to hear more from her.”
Was it interesting? Sure. But hearing it from my little sister didn’t really move me as much as a simple apology from my mother could, something I wasn’t holding my breath to wait on as Mila said, “Maybe you should use some of your connects to get us on one of those family therapy reality shows. Iyanla: We’re Fucked Up.”
With a much-needed chuckle, I corrected, “It’s called, Iyanla: Fix My Life.”
“Same thing,” she offered, chuckling herself when she asked, “Can you imagine her and mom going at it? I mean, layers on top of layers of drama. Must-see TV.”
I could already imagine it now, Iyanla trying to use one of her unconventional therapy methods just to be met with some of my mother’s antics. “Mom would probably give that woman a heart attack.”
“Or fake her own to make the viewership skyrocket since she just can’t be outdone,” Mila suggested with another little laugh that made me laugh too considering how accurate was. But the laugh was also enough for the pressure in my bladder from all those mimosas to show up, forcing me to press pause on her getting started on the next section of my hair so that I could go pee.
The effort it took to stand up from the pillow I was sitting on on the floor, make it down the hall to the bathroom, and then sit down on the toilet already had me regretting drinking so much. But the relief of a drunk pee was like no other, my eyelids drifting closed until I heard someone knocking on the bathroom door. And before I could even address her, Mila announced, “Uhhhh… somebody’s at the door. And he kinda looks like Khalid, but also somehow a hundred times finer which makes all the terrible things I said about him earlier null and void.”
Since that didn’t even make any sense, I finished peeing then went to wash my hands while shouting back, “You mean, the part about how I should’ve taken his phone and shoved it up his ass? Or the part about how I should’ve cut his locs in random places he couldn’t hide when he was sleep?”
“Who said that? I said that?”
Pulling the door open, I teased, “Are you really that drunk?” Then I made my way to the front door, taking a quick peek through the peephole to see a guy that was definitely built like Khalid running a brush over his fade which meant it couldn’t be him. But when I opened the door and saw those familiar, playful brown eyes looking back at me, it felt like I had swallowed a gum ball whole.
“Oh… my God.”
As much as I loved Khalid with his locs, seeing him with a fresh fade - and smelling fresh out of the barber’s chair - had me relying on the door for support when he finally spoke. “Hey Jay.”
Giving a greeting in return didn’t feel nearly as important as acknowledging, “Your hair. It’s…”
“Gone,” he finished for me, grinning as he swiped a hand over where his locs used to be then looked back at me to say, “And I see you’re on the same wave.”
I was so caught up in his new do that I had forgotten about my own hair-braided, half-weaved one, the mention making me slam the door in his face in a panic. And while I could only imagine how confused he looked on the other side, I was just as confused by him showing up like this, yelling through the door, “What are you doing here, Khalid?”
Watching him through the peephole, I saw his annoyingly-fine ass shove his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he answered, “I just came by to talk, Jayla. Well, apologize, mainly.”
“Go on,” I shouted, peeking over at Mila who had a hand over her mouth to cover up her laughing.
While I was busy giving her the death stare to stay quiet, Khalid shouted back, “I really gotta yell it through the door for all your neighbors to hear? I mean, I will, but...”
Having any sort of conversation face-to-face with him looking like that and me looking like this didn’t really seem like a fair match-up. But if he was really here to apologize like he said he was, then he’d just have to accept me how I was. Though I was grateful when Mila passed me a cap to throw on over the part she had already taken out so that I could actually open the door again. And when I did, I didn’t bother looking at him when I said, “Follow me.”
After bounding the couple flights of stairs to the first floor - a truly bad idea in my current state - we ended up in the courtyard of my complex that was especially quiet since most people were at work. But the deafening silence only expanded my anxiety about what it was he had to say, a little annoyed when the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “So… how you been?”
“I’m going to be honest. I’m a bit too tipsy for small talk, so just get to the point. Why are you really here?”
The silence returned as he carefully chose his words, my patience growing thinner by the second until he finally answered, “I’m here to tell you how sorry I am, to your face. I might not have known exactly what you were going through at the time, but I knew what you had been through, and I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain by respecting your pace like I said I would. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”
While I could appreciate his apology, it still wasn’t enough for me to welcome him back with open arms, my frown remaining intact when I expressed, “Khalid, it’s not even just about you not respecting my pace. But for you to treat me like I was wrong for having any sort of standard when it came to our developing situation just because we hadn’t put titles to it, and then suddenly hop on some “strictly business” bullshit because of that was…”
“Selfish,” he finished for me, grabbing my hand to look me in the eye as he continued, “It was selfish, and inconsiderate, and I’m sorry. For real.”
It sounded good, but I had been here before, had heard it all and been fed every one-liner that only led to the same thing happening again. And as if going to his phone was a good idea considering it had been the catalyst to all of this, he pulled it from his po
cket, scrolling to open his Instagram app and show me his blank profile.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“I’m done, Jayla. No more “influencing”, one and done on the hosting, no more entertaining and engaging the fans. The money and the fame isn’t worth losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me in you.”
The best thing that’s ever… okay, maybe I hadn’t heard that one before. And while I was internally flattered, I didn’t acknowledge that part out loud, instead addressing the first part of his statement when I asked, “Khalid, are you crazy? Do you realize how much money you’re leaving on the table?”
Completely unfazed, he looked me straight on to express, “None of it means shit without you, shorty. None of it.”
Once again, I was flattered as hell. But somehow, I still fought the urge to hop into his lap and take a whiff of the special finishing sauce his barber had used, gnawing on my lip instead as I teased, “I take it that meeting with Carl didn’t go so well…”
With a little chuckle, he replied, “He really thought he had one. Dude tried to set me up with all types of companies that ain’t got shit to do with me which only made it even clearer that you really got the juice, shorty. Not that I ever believed otherwise, but...”
Turning his way, I admitted, “I’m a work in progress, Khalid. You remember that little rant you went on about me being a good businesswoman? Having all these skills to see right through the bullshit? I didn’t always have that. I didn’t always have this... voice, particularly in my personal life. But I do now. And even if you decide you can’t handle that, it’s not going anywhere.”
“And I don’t want it to. I just… I fucked up, Jayla. But I swear I learned my lesson. None of that shit will ever happen again.”
Considering the genuine person Khalid had always been, it was hard not to take him for his word. Though my eyebrow still piqued when I asked, “Ever again?”
“Ever. Again,” he answered, punctuating his words with a kiss against each of my cheeks. And it was then that I realized how much I missed his touch, secretly wishing Jamila wasn’t upstairs so he could apologize to my other cheeks.
But it was probably a good thing we weren’t in private, allowing me to stay on topic once I told him, “That’s a big claim to make.”
“Then I’ll put that on my grandmama’s grave to let you know I’m deadass,” he quickly replied, a response that definitely let me know he was serious while also making me frown since…
“Can you not?! This has nothing to do with her, God rest her sweet, sweet soul.”
Instead of agreeing, he only laughed, wrapping his arm around my shoulder to pull me into his chest. And while this time around the silence was a lot more soothing, especially now that I was in a better position to smell him, I couldn’t help admitting out loud, “I learned a lesson too.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Always be prepared for a guy to show up on his “baby, baby, please” shit,” I told him with a laugh, lifting my hand to tighten the cap over my hair.
It was the same one I had on that day in the convenience store, and even prompted a similar response from Khalid once he replied, “You still look good, shorty. You always look good.”
“It’s the bad bitch way, even on her day off,” I insisted with a smirk, peeking up to find his eyes and glad to see him wearing one as well.
Looking me dead on, he asked, “So are we good, Jay?”
I definitely felt better now that it seemed like we were back on the same page. But when my throat responded with a gag and then my mouth began to water, I quickly answered, “Before I answer yes, I have two orders of business for you. One, I need you to get your Insta-posts back because some of those contracts were still active. And two, I need you to hold my leftover weave back because I think I’m about to throw up.”
In a flash, I was bent over from my seated position and Khalid caught my hair just in time for most of it to miss the splash of breakfast that came out of my mouth right onto the concrete. And after a second smaller wave of barf, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and whined, “Another lesson; no more bottomless mimosas with Mila.”
“Is that a whole sausage link? Did you like, forget to chew or somethin’?” he asked teasingly as I gagged again before shouting, “Not funny!”
He laughed anyway, standing up and straddling my vomit to lift me from my seat as he sang, “Poor shorty. Come on. Let’s get you back upstairs and into bed.” And before I could protest, he was already carrying me towards the stairs like a big ol’ baby, my arms wrapped around his neck for extra support once he started climbing them two by two. But the hold felt so different without his hair in the way, my hands finding their way to the back of his head for a rub that made him chuckle.
“Weird, right?”
Opening my disgusting mouth while being so close to him might’ve killed him, so instead I only nodded as he maneuvered to open the door, my sister popping up from the couch the second we walked in to say, “What the hell did you… do you know I will kill you?!”
Khalid wasn’t at all fazed by her threats, confidently calm when he told her, “Chill, Mila. She just threw up from all those mimosas you apparently had her on. You know good and well she’s a lightweight.”
“He would know,” I thought as Mila asked more to herself than us, “She is?”
Instead of giving her an answer, I muttered, “Bathroom, please,” without opening my mouth too much, happy when Khalid obliged my wishes. And even after putting me down so I could brush my teeth and rinse my mouth, he stayed nearby so he could see me off to my bedroom, even going as far as tucking me in before sitting on the edge of the bed to rub my forehead since my hair wasn’t an option.
Somehow, even with everything that had gone down - and the fact that I surely looked a hot ass mess right now - I didn’t feel as embarrassed about it as I would’ve in the past; more so happy to have someone like Khalid around who genuinely cared to make sure I was well taken care of. And when he took that a step further by asking, “Can I get you a cup of coffee the way you like it, boss lady?”, I knew I had made the right decision in giving us another chance.
He deserved it.
Six Weeks Later.
Jayla’s Thirtieth Birthday.
Khalid
The weekend was jam-packed with activities; a hosting gig at a local community event on Friday, Londyn and Chance’s engagement party on Saturday, and now we were spending Sunday celebrating my shorty’s big birthday with what she thought was a surprise dinner for two but was really a surprise dinner with all of her closest people.
Keeping that a secret had been the hardest part, especially since I couldn’t communicate with everyone involved without her getting suspicious. Even now, as we were on our way to the restaurant, she had a little attitude with me for being on my phone when I was really just trying to make sure everything - and everybody - was in place.
With the thumbs up emoji reply from Londyn - followed by the ring emoji that she couldn’t stop using for no reason since Chance proposed - I put my phone away just as Jayla groaned, “You and that phone are going to drive me crazy.”
“I’m sorry, gorgeous. It’s away for good now. We’re here,” I told her, catching the excited smirk on her face when she realized we had pulled up to the fancy little restaurant she had been dropping hints about for the last few weeks, knowing good and well I picked up on everything she said. And after helping her out of the car, and admiring her fine ass from behind, we made our way into the spot, immediately being directed to the private room in the back.
“A private room, huh? What’s that all about?” Jayla asked with a teasing grin as I grabbed her hand to guide her there, feeling more and more anxious the closer we got since I wanted things to be perfect for her.
So without giving anything away, I replied, “Only the best for the boss lady.”
She gave my hand an appreciative squeeze as I casually led her into the room. And when
she realized what was happening, she dropped my hand so she could use hers to cover her mouth just as everyone shouted, “Surprise!”
I was sure to fill the room with people she actually cared to celebrate with. Jamila and Shaq who had somehow made up after couchgate. Londyn and Chance who were still glowing like some damn lightbulbs from their new engagement. The host of friends I remembered her being out with all those months ago and the small handful of associates from work she liked. And then there was her mother who I would’ve never guessed she’d get back on better terms with so soon. But after Colleen dropped into town a week after the dinner disaster to apologize, and the two of them started seeing a family therapist - not go on a therapy reality show like Jamila had apparently suggested -, things were thankfully on the up-and-up; the hug to her mother being the first one Jayla gave before dishing them out to everyone and wiping her happy tears along the way.
“How did you guys all pull this off without me knowing?” she asked as she dabbed at her eyes in a way that made sure her makeup stayed intact.
For whatever reason, Shaq felt he had the right to speak up for everyone in the moment. Though I was surprised to hear something normal come out of his mouth when he gestured my way to say, “Gotta thank ya mans for that. He was on it.”
The look Jayla gave when she turned my way had the moths in my stomach going wild, her eyes wide as she asked, “You did this?” And after I answered with a nod, she grabbed me by the back of my head to pull me closer so she could whisper straight into my ear, “You are so getting Natasha’d tonight.”
Natasha’d.
Because the shit had become a verb over the past few weeks Jayla and I had spent together, letting things develop between us in the most organic way possible while also taking full advantage of premium perks.
We were figuring each other out, maintaining our business relationship since Jayla refused to let me quit being an influencer with all the money I would’ve been missing out on, and having so much fun along the way that it was easy to fall in love with each other. But if there was one lesson I had learned, it was to give Jayla room to go at her own pace which meant the “L word” was being kept locked away until she was ready.
The Lessons We Learn Page 20