Butterfly

by Ashley Antoinette

  As Morgan exited the elevator, her eyes scanned the crowd anxiously. She would recognize him from a mile away. He stood tall and strong, facing the conveyor belt window. One hand was tucked in his Nike joggers, the other held his cell phone to his ear. She wasn’t sure why she felt relief, but Ethic’s presence soothed her aching soul. As if he felt her nearing, he turned in her direction, and Morgan left the stroller to run into his arms. She cried, clinging to him for dear life.

  “Shhh, Mo, I’m right here,” he whispered as he gripped the back of her neck and wrapped a strong arm around her. “You’re okay.” He moved his hand to the back of her head and rubbed gently. “You’re okay, Mo.” He held her for minutes, minutes that felt like hours, as Mo struggled to compose herself. It was overwhelming to be back. It brought back memories, and they all invaded her brain at the same time. The thoughts attacked her, making her panic, telling her to turn around and go back to London because running was easier than facing her losses. “Come on, Mo. Let’s get your bags and get the babies to the car,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. She nodded and sniffed away her distress, rolling her eyes to the ceiling as her pointer fingers cleared the mess from her face.

  Ethic motioned to a young man standing nearby, and he sauntered over with eager eyes, rubbing his hands together smoothly as he bit into his lower lip.

  “Keep your eyes down, homie, before I rip ’em out your head,” Ethic said, snickering.

  The young man blushed in embarrassment. “No disrespect, OG. I wasn’t—”

  “You were, but you won’t again, understood?” Ethic asked.

  “You got it, big homie,” he stammered.

  “Grab her bags, and meet us at the car,” Ethic stated.

  “It’ll be the Louis Vuitton suitcase,” Morgan added.

  Ethic shook his head. “You just got back, and it’s already starting.” He snickered. “It’s always the ones that work under me.” He laughed, pulling her under his arm and then heading toward the stroller. He grabbed one handle, and she clutched the other as they pushed the twins through the crowd.

  “I missed you, Ethic,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked. Ethic kissed the side of her head.

  “I missed you more, Mo. Welcome home.”

  * * *

  “Look, we have a guest in the studio today. He needs dancers for his video shoot this weekend, y’all, so get it right. It’s high tempo. It’s fast, but it’s not hard. Your hands are doing the choreography; your hips just roll. Hips roll slow, hands move fast. The choreo is all up top, then you hit the split. If you can’t split, then, I mean”—Aria waved her hand dismissively—“why are you even here? This is upper echelon, ladies and gentlemen,” Aria coached as she went through the moves she’d arranged. Her white biker shorts were knee length but skintight, and her cropped white hoodie revealed her new tattoo—angel wings right on her rib cage.

  The popular rapper stood in front of the mirror, arms folded across his chest.

  “Umm, bruh,” Aria said. “Some people like to watch themselves have sex. My dancing is like sex, and I like to see myself cum. You want to slide to the side?”

  The group of dancers laughed, and he snickered but lifted hands in surrender and moved away from the mirror. “I want to see that too,” he said. The group of dancers chuckled.

  “It’ll be the last thing you ever see, G.”

  The threat accompanied nothing—no snicker, no titter, no joking banter—because it was 100 percent truth.

  Aria saw Isa break through the crowd of dancers, swaggering toward her with a contemptuous stare, pulling up his pants.

  “I’m so sorry, give me a second,” Aria told the rapper. She hurried toward Isa.

  “What are you doing here, Isa? I’m kind of busy,” she said.

  “I don’t give a fuck, Ali. Why you ain’t answering my fucking calls?” he asked, towering over her. Aria could practically feel the rage permeating the space around him. He was angry. He was used to receiving attention from women whenever he wanted it. Aria had put him on ice, and while she knew he thought she was playing games, Aria was just tired. The exchange of energy with Isa was too much. She hadn’t dated anyone in the past two years because she had gotten caught up in their friendship. She was being faithful to a man that wasn’t even her man while he was entertaining a flock of women. She didn’t have time to play games. She was graduating college soon, booking tours with Stiletto Gang in the meantime, and turning down eligible men, and for what? She was pulling back, and now that she had made herself unavailable to him, Isa was livid.

  Aria looked around at the roomful of curious eyes that were on them.

  “Isa, I’m working. Can we do this later?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

  “Nah, we doing this shit right now. Fuck is the problem?” Isa asked. “We been back for a week, and a nigga ain’t heard from you. I take issue with that.” He pointed a finger in her face, and Aria knocked it out of the way.

  “I don’t really care what you take issue with. Don’t you have a roster? A main? What you want with me? Your hands are already full. Go play with one of them, because that’s all you’re doing with me. Playing me. I’m not with the games,” she said. “And I’m busy, so goodbye.” She turned back toward the mirror, and he grabbed her hand, spinning her around. So aggressive. Dominant.

  She blew out a sharp breath.

  “What you want me to do? Huh? It’s been a week, Ali! A week of no fucking contact. I’m blowing you up, and you buttoning me and shit like I’m one of these lame-ass rappers you be giving the runaround.” The last part was a shot to the artist in the room, and he raised his voice to make sure it was heard.

  Aria rolled her eyes in protest at this ego trip. She wasn’t naïve enough to think it was anything more. Isa’s feelings were hurt because she wasn’t the one calling, she wasn’t the one wondering where he was and hoping he’d pull up. That had never been her thing. Chasing a man. Her mother had taught her long ago that men were built to hunt. Aria knew the game. If she was too accessible, too interested, too approachable, men would come fast and leave with even more haste, so Aria flipped the game. She was hard to get and, therefore, harder to let go of. Once a man captured her, he felt like he was getting a prize. No one had been awarded the trophy yet, and she could see it in Isa’s eyes, hear it in his tone, and feel it in his touch … he wanted to be the first. “You ain’t even calling me to pull up at night. That’s fucked up.”

  Isa was bothered. What had started as a way to help her sleep at night had become a routine that helped him rest his weary soul. In Aria’s bed, he found peace. He didn’t feel the need to sleep with one eye open. Their connection, although not sexual, had affected him. She had gotten under his skin. The smell of her skin, cocoa butter, was missing in his life. She put it on so much that he would walk around smelling it for days. In his bathroom, on his sheets, on her sheets, in his car. The scent had faded, and he was pissed.

  “Y’all, take five,” she said. She bumped his shoulder as she walked past him and out the front door. He pushed it so hard that the bell above the door broke and clattered as it fell to the cement below. She spun on him when hustling ears were out of reach. “How dare you come here spazzing on me, making a scene! Do you know who that is in there?”

  “Yeah, I know who that nigga is. Corny-ass song playing on a loop on the radio,” Isa mumbled. “That’s the type of nigga you want? A rapper that play gangster? You got a real shooter in front of you, Ali.”

  “Isa! You are not my man!”

  “What am I, then? I’m flying your little ass to London, paying your rent, buying you shit. What that sound like?” he asked.

  “Like you my main,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you played your hand wrong, and now I’m no longer interested.”

  Isa snickered. “That’s what this is about? The bitch in my phone?”

  “Plural, Isa. The bitches in your phone. I don’t play the back or the side or the fr
ont. If a nigga can’t make me his only, I remove myself. I replace you.”

  “So you fucking with somebody else?” he asked. “That nigga in there?”

  “You don’t get to ask questions about who I keep time with. Which is not him, by the way. I don’t shit where I eat, but even if I did … you don’t get to trip on me and run up on me with the rah-rah. I don’t belong to you.”

  “What I got to do?” he asked.

  “What?” she asked, frustrated as she frowned in confusion.

  “To be your man, Ali. To hit that shit every night? What I got to do?” Isa asked.

  “You’re unbelievable. That’s all you think about,” she muttered.

  “Have you seen you? That’s all any nigga think about when he look at you, and your little ass done had me on ice for two years. That’s the first thing I think about. I think about other shit too, though, Ali. You got me fucked up. I think about you. I think about a lot when it comes to you,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning his back against the brick wall. He looked off in the opposite direction, blowing out a breath of exasperation.

  “Like what, Isa?” she challenged.

  “Like what it would be like…,” he started. He flicked his nose and kept his eyes up the block, too embarrassed to look at her. “To come home to you. When I’m done mobbing. If you were there at the end of the night to take some of that off my soul. I think about you, Ali.”

  Aria was floored. Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. She snaked her neck back and scoffed. She swept a hand through her hair and turned around to walk back into the building.

  “What I got to do?”

  His words stopped her, froze her where she stood. She didn’t want to give into Isa. She knew him. He would get what he wanted and then move on to the next.

  “You’d have to marry me, boy,” she said, shrugging. “That’s the only time a man can come and go in my life as he pleases. He’d come with a ring and a last name, and I’d pop that shit for him whenever he wanted, however he wanted, wherever he wanted.”

  “Man, go get your shit,” Isa said, rubbing the top of his head, brows lifted, overwhelmed.

  Aria shook her head, face scrunched in irritation. “Did you not just hear me?”

  “You want a nigga name or not?” he barked.

  Aria jerked her neck back so hard it hurt.

  “Don’t make a big deal, man,” Isa groaned. Aria’s face broke into a smile, then laughter. When Isa didn’t crack a smile, she stopped.

  “You’re serious…,” she whispered. “Isa!”

  “What, you don’t want to? First you want to, now you don’t want to? I swear to God, man…”

  “This isn’t a proposal,” she said. “Are you serious?”

  “I ain’t getting on my knees and shit, Ali. You said that’s what it takes, so that’s what it takes. Let’s go.”

  Aria walked up to him and stood directly in front of him. She looked up at him in disbelief. Isa was 100 percent certified. He was born and bred in the gutter. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t planned, she was sure he hadn’t thought of it at all, but she was also sure that he wouldn’t have ever uttered the notion if he didn’t want to. Her heart swelled. “Isa, we can’t … this is crazy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a crazy mu’fucka, so what’s good? You gon’ let me get that?”

  If Aria’s skin weren’t so rich, she would have been red. She bit her bottom lip, and he reached down, holding her under her arms and picked her up so that she was his height. She placed her hands on the sides of his face.

  “You want to marry me so you can have sex with me?” she asked.

  “I want to marry you because I hate yo’ ass,” he responded. He pecked her lips, then set her down on her feet.

  She reached up and pulled him down to her mouth, kissing him so sensually that he groaned in contentment. “I hate you too,” she whispered.

  * * *

  “Meet you where?” Mo screamed into the phone. “Aria! That’s insane!” Morgan looked around at her family. It felt good to be home around the people who loved her. Bella and Eazy were on the living room floor playing with Yara. Ethic was asleep with Messari napping on his chest, and his wife, Alani, was baking. “What do you mean married? Like married married?” Alani looked up from across the table as Aria filled Morgan’s ear with details. She took the phone away from her ear.

  “Would you mind watching the twins for me tonight?” Morgan asked.

  Alani nodded. “Of course,” she said. “You don’t ever have to ask. We always love spending time with them. They’ll be good practice for Ethic.” Alani snickered, and Morgan smiled, admiring Alani’s swollen belly.

  “I’m really happy for you, Alani. You deserve this. You both do.”

  Alani’s eyes welled with tears, and Mo’s lip trembled. They had been through a hard time. Connecting with and accepting each other had been a journey, but Morgan’s heart swelled when she looked at Alani now. Alani reached across the table and held out her hand, and Morgan grabbed ahold of it. Alani just emanated love, and Morgan felt it transferring to her through Alani’s fingertips.

  “Thank you, Mo,” Alani whispered. “He’s going to love you so much. I love you so much.”

  “I love you too,” Mo said.

  She stood and walked around the table, bending down to hug Alani and then kissing her pregnant belly. She put the phone back to her ear. “Okay, Alani’s watching the kids. I’m on my way, I guess. See you soon.” She hung up the phone and grabbed the keys to her car. She made light work of the short fifteen-minute drive into the city. She parked curbside to the county courthouse, and quick feet carried her inside. As soon as she entered the building, she saw Aria pacing the length of the lobby.

  “What the hell?” Morgan asked, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Married!” She looked around Aria to Isa. “Married?” she shouted at him.

  Isa shrugged. “That’s your homegirl. Got me buying the whole fucking cow just to get some milk.”

  “Tell me I’m not crazy for doing this,” Aria whispered, shaking her hands in front of her. Aria was freaking out. “I’m only twenty-two years old. My family is going to kill me. This is a bad idea. A bad, bad, bad idea, right? I should have just fucked him.”

  Morgan laughed sympathetically and pulled Aria into her arms. She hugged her and then pulled back, placing her hands on Aria’s shoulders. “Do you love him?”

  “I hate him,” Aria said surely, nodding in a panic and rolling her eyes to the sky. She stomped her feet, throwing a mini-tantrum. “Mo, I hate him so much.”

  Morgan shook her head.

  “Ali…,” Isa called.

  “Be my maid of honor?” Aria asked. She blew out another nervous breath. “I’m going to throw up.”

  “And I’ll be there to hold your hair. That’s what maids of honor do.” Morgan smiled. There was a nagging in her heart because Aria was affiliated with Isa through her. It had all started with Morgan and Messiah. She had always thought she would be the one being reckless, running off into the sunset to get married behind Ethic’s back. She would have done that with Messiah. She would have done it without thinking twice. Maybe that was the problem. She hadn’t thought with him. She never paused to question anything. She just believed in him. She had followed him blindly.

  * * *

  Aria sucked in air, and Isa held out his hand for her. Aria walked over, grabbing it tightly as Morgan followed behind.

  “Yo!”

  Meek’s voice erupted through the building, bouncing off the high ceilings and echoing off the walls. Morgan froze, and an ache in her heart stopped her breath.

  “Somebody order a best man?” Meek asked as he walked into the building. Dark denim, Christian Louboutin spiked black sneakers, and a black fitted V-neck T-shirt. “You called me an hour ago, bruh; I ain’t have time to throw on a suit. Apparently, neither did you.” He snickered. Meek slapped hands with Isa, and they embraced. Meek kissed Aria on the cheek.

  �
��Hey, Meek,” Aria greeted. “This is insane, right? Tell him this is crazy.”

  Meek smiled, licking his lips. “It’s not the most logical shit, but I’m here for it.” Meek reached in his back pocket and pulled out a velvet box, tossing it to Isa. Isa caught it out of thin air.

  “Three karats should be about right,” Meek stated.

  “My nigga,” Isa stated, putting two fingers to his forehead in salute.

  Morgan’s head was spinning, and it wasn’t even her last name on the line. It was all happening so fast. The spontaneity of it all put butterflies in her stomach. She knew Bash would give her the grandest affair when their day came, and it wouldn’t even be close to being as passionate as this. Isa and Aria had met through the association of her and Messiah, and she couldn’t help but feel that this was supposed to be her. That this passionate, irrational love affair was a page out of the book of M&M. It made her miss him. It made her hate him. Messiah. He lived in her. He haunted her. He was a ghost that wouldn’t leave, and in this moment, Morgan felt like crying. She was happy for Isa and Aria, but their impromptu wedding did something to her soul. It dug up bones she had buried. Unearthed the heartbreak like it was brand new.