“You too, Jayla Mitchell,” I replied as plainly as possible since I knew it would get a reaction out of her regardless. And once her eyes went wide, I was quick to explain, “Jamila insisted on putting her number in my phone, and she put her full name. That’s your fam, so…”
“We have different fathers.”
“Oh damn. My bad,” I told her, suddenly feeling silly for assuming.
Well… feeling silly until I saw the smirk on her face when she said, “But that’s still my maiden name too.”
“So you think you funny, huh? Yeah, you definitely gotta come to the party now,” I told her with a little chuckle, her teasing only making my appreciation for everything about her double in size.
Her professional side, her sense of humor, her resourcefulness, her… sexiness.
The woman was really everything. And she only made me that much more excited to have her in my crib this weekend when she finally replied, “I’ll see you then.”
&
Getting the crib in order for the housewarming party was already stressful enough. But leave it to my little cousin, Shaq, to do nothing but add to that stress when he asked, “What kinda hoes you got comin’ through here? You invite a few of them Instagram honeys?”
To be real, the invitation I had extended to him was more of a courtesy than anything since I knew my grandmama would’ve flamed my ass from heaven for leaving him out. She had raised the both of us, with Shaq being a few years younger - and a whole lot dumber - than me. And even though we favored each other in looks, our differences were clear every time he opened his damn mouth.
“Nah, this ain’t that kinda function,” I told him plainly, checking my wrist for the time and discovering a lot more had passed than I realized.
Shit.
After a quick sweep of the kitchen, I headed to my room to get dressed. And Shaq was right on my heels muttering, “Ain’t that kinda… then why the hell am I here? That’s the only reason I came! That’s the only reason I ever come.”
“Clearly, nigga. Since you didn’t bring a housewarming gift nor any body-warming liquor,” I told him annoyedly, slipping into the bathroom to change out of my chill wear into something a little nicer.
Designer chill wear.
“You the one making those internet dollars now. I figured you had it, bruh,” Shaq replied the second I emerged from the bathroom as if he had any idea how that shit worked. But I suppose I couldn’t blame him since he pretty much thought the same thing that most people, including myself, did; a sponsored post meant instant cash.
I was tempted to school him on the business shit until I heard incessant honking coming from outside, directing my attention to the source when I told him, “Londyn just pulled up. Make yourself useful and go help her carry some of those bottles in here.”
Instead of making moves like I had asked, he only peeked at her through the blinds. “Man, she ain’t missed a beat since y’all went to school together. I can’t believe you really never bagged that. Just what kinda nigga are you?”
With a little shove towards the front door, I answered, “A nigga with more morals than you’ll ever have. Now go help her with the liquor before I help you to these hands.”
“Nah, nah. Don’t try to be all hard now,” he replied jokingly, the stoic look I gave in response telling him I wasn’t in the mood for that shit. And I was glad he picked up on it enough to say, “Aight, aight. I’m goin’.”
Once he stepped outside, I did another quick sweep, this time of the living room to make sure there wasn’t anything out of place. But the only thing I found was a wrapper from the weed brownie Shaq must’ve consumed on the low stuffed into the couch.
“It’s gonna be a long night,” I thought to myself, shaking my head as I fixed the cushions. Then I went to drop the wrapper in the trash just as Londyn and Shaq’s soon-to-be high ass made their way back inside.
Londyn was all smiles when she announced, “You know I haven’t seen this fool since college. And he’s still as ugly as I remember.”
“Hit your little grown woman glow-up and suddenly forgot about those multi-colored kinky twists, huh?” Shaq teased, earning himself a punch in the arm as Londyn squealed, “Shut up!” Then she got busy arranging her and Miss. Annie’s contribution to the party on the countertop, taking short glances at the space that used to be all hers.
“I like what you’ve done with the place, Khalid. Not my style, but I guess it fits you well,” she said with a subtle hint of shade to let me know she wasn’t really all that impressed.
Either that or she was just sad to see it look a little differently than she remembered, something she’d simply have to deal with since, “That’s all that matters, right?”
Instead of answering, she only side-eyed me, sticking her personal bottle of liquor into the freezer before turning back my way to say, “You should’ve told me to come-by earlier so I could fix that hair of yours. You’re looking a little rough, homie.”
“Been thinking about cutting it to be honest,” I replied, scrubbing a hand over my locs that were definitely past needing a touch-up. But between my regular job and my side gig with Jayla which included a strategic increase in my presence on social media, I hadn’t really had the time to find a new stylist even though looking good was part of my “brand”.
Of course the mention of cutting my hair fired Londyn right up as she screeched, “What?! And let all my hard work go to waste?! You’re trippin’!”
I totally understood where she was coming from, especially since my locs had been around just as long as she had. They were really like a staple of our friendship; the thing that had kicked it off and a small part of what had sustained it over the years. But with the circumstances changing for the both of us, I admitted, “Now that you aren’t here to get me right on the regular, shits nothin’ but a hassle.”
“If I need to make a trip back once a month to retwist you, you know I will,” she replied, her unwavering generosity something I had always admired. I mean, this whole housewarming thing wouldn’t have even been possible without her letting me rent the house for a more than fair price, her leaving some furniture behind to make the place look reasonably inviting, her having the idea to put this little shindig together, and then supplying the alcohol without me having to ask.
She was a real one, no doubt about it. But the fact that she was so willing to make the trip only made me laugh since..., “Damn. You’re that homesick already, huh?”
While we hadn’t talked about it directly, she had made plenty of comments via text that hinted at her starting to miss home. And even if it wasn’t enough for her to undo the move since she was definitely thriving in her new digs, it was clear she was slowly becoming hip to that whole “No place like home” concept.
Gnawing on her lip, she pushed out, “No… Yes… Sometimes. I mean, I can only ride my man so many times in one day before he tells me I need a new hobby. And making new friends as an adult is just… hard. ”
“Learn how to be nice to people, and maybe they’ll stop running from you,” I teased as I blew past her towards the fridge and pulled out the sandwich platter she’d insisted I order from the grocery store deli. No matter how much she claimed her mother’s parties annoyed her, it was clear she was starting to take after her in that regard.
“Haven’t lost your sense of asshole, I see,” she muttered under the loud popping sound from the bag of chips she was opening. Then she reached into the cabinets and pulled out a bowl I didn’t even know I owned, dumping the chips out with an attitude like my little comment had really hurt her feelings.
I wanted to ask her who she thought she was fooling with that shit, wanted to remind her that I knew her far too well to fall for the okey-doke. But instead, I pinched her cheek teasingly while telling her, “Keeps you humble, little baby. You know that.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, snatching away to throw the empty bag in the trash as a new thought dawned on h
er. “Wait a minute. What happened to Shaq?”
“Awww shit,” was my immediate reaction since I could only imagine what he had gotten himself into now that some time had passed meaning his edible had settled in. And while I probably should’ve been surprised, I was only annoyed to find him outside sitting on the roof.
“Cuz, what the hell are you doing up there?” I shouted, wondering how he had even gotten up there since I didn’t see a ladder nearby.
He didn’t bother looking down at me, instead kept his eyes toward the sky when he pointed out, “That cloud. It’s White Jesus. I know it’s White Jesus. He saw me picking money up off the floor to throw in the strip club two weeks ago, and now he’s coming to shut me out of heaven’s gates for my sin.”
Londyn immediately started dying laughing, forced to put a hand over her mouth to keep from drawing too much attention to us while I told Shaq, “Bruh, you are tweakin’. Get down from there.”
Instead of listening, he only shook his head. “Nah, I deserve it. Sapphire thought she was making double, and really I was just recycling her earnings. White Jesus is about to send me straight to hell.”
If he wasn’t my responsibility, I might’ve thought it was funny too. But since he was my responsibility, I only grew more annoyed when, through her laughs, Londyn asked, “Exactly what did he smoke, and where can one buy some? Asking for a me.”
“It was just one of those brownies,” I told her with a roll of my eyes as Shaq started singing some offbeat remix of Ruben Studdard’s, “Sorry 2004” a whole fourteen years too late.
“This is my sorry forrrr, two thousand…eighteen. And I ain’t gonna pick up no more, of her tipssss...”
“Oh damn. He must’ve eaten the whole thing then. You know they say you should only eat half,” Londyn replied just as Shaq broke from his song to make another request for forgiveness.
“Black Jesus, come save me! White Jesus is trippin’. He doesn’t know my heart like you do! We don’t even speak the same language!”
“Fuck, man. We gotta get him down from there,” I hissed, peeking over to Londyn to find her filming the whole thing instead of brainstorming ideas like she should’ve been. “Londyn, are you serious?! This shit ain’t funny! What if my neighbors see him?! What if they call the police?”
“Shit, it might be us calling the police if we can’t get him down ourselves,” she replied as Shaq started singing out another plea, this time via his own remix on Justin Bieber lyrics.
“Is it too late now to say sorryyyyy… cause I really loved her bodyyyy.”
“Is it too late now to say sorryyyyy…Yeah, I knowww that I let you down. But her booty cheeks were hellaaa round.”
Londyn had the nerve to start jigging to his song, earning herself a little shove in the shoulder when I finally replied, “Hell nah! Can you imagine their response to a black man, high off cannabis, screaming from the rooftop in this nice ass neighborhood? They don’t give a fuck about it being your property; they’ll still shoot his ass down without even blinking.”
It was a sad reality, but reality nonetheless. And while I hated its truth, it was at least enough to get Londyn on my side as she said, “On second thought, I’ll go get the ladder from the garage.”
Jayla
“Mila, I’ve told you this a million times. Khalid said the dress code for tonight is super chill.”
Leave it to my little sister to come over with a garment bag full of clothes to try on as if she couldn’t have just arrived to my place already dressed. And of course she had brought along a bunch of stuff that didn’t exactly scream “housewarming party”.
More like, Grammy’s after party.
“Well this is my version of super chill,” she replied as she adjusted the hem of her skintight leather dress, turning around to check her ass out in the mirror before throwing her fur vest over it.
While the ensemble did look good on her, I still couldn’t help teasing, “Jamila, you look like you’re about to sit front row at a boxing match. I mean, is the leather and fur really necessary for an in-house function?”
Running a hand down the front of her dress, she defended, “First of all, I’m vegan now. So if anybody asks, this is pleather and this is faux fur. Second of all, you should probably mind your own business since you’re dressed like you’re about to work at a boxing match as a corner man.”
“This Adidas tracksuit is brand new! And if this isn’t considered super chill, I don’t know what is,” I replied, glancing at myself in the mirror and wondering had I overdone it on the “chill” part.
I was determined to break out of the polished and pristine persona my mother had ingrained in me, but I also didn’t want to look like a total slob. And Jamila didn’t exactly make me feel better about it when she patted my shoulder to sarcastically reply, “If you say so, Run DMC.”
With a sigh, I huffed, “Fine. I’ll change. But it has to be something made of soft, stretchy material.”
The task of dressing me was one of Mila’s favorite things, so of course she sprung right into action, vigorously flipping through my closet until she found her first option. “How about this t-shirt dress?”
“It shrunk in the dryer, so now my ass practically falls out of it,” I told her, expecting her to put it back so I could donate it later.
But instead of doing that, she squealed, “Perfect!” before pulling it out and laying it on my bed. “We’ll do this. A little denim jacket for some contrast and flare. And... those tennis shoes you never wear.”
“You mean, the tennis shoes I was already planning to wear,” I muttered as I unzipped my track jacket and got rid of it along with the matching pants and t-shirt so that I could replace it all with Mila’s pick. And while I wanted to be mad at her for making me change, the outfit looked too good on me to complain.
Mila knew it too, peeking over my shoulder as she emphasized, “See. Super chill, but make it fashion. Now you actually look worth a damn.”
“I always look worth a damn,” I replied as I licked my lips and flipped my hair over my shoulder, almost tempted to take a selfie since the lighting was still perfect from Mila doing her makeup earlier. But I must’ve been feelin’ myself a little too much since Mila only rolled her eyes in response.
“You take a girl from looking like a potato to looking like a snack, and suddenly she’s flipping her hair and popping her lips in the mirror,” she groaned annoyedly, making me giggle since she was really just being a hater.
Instead of letting it get to me, I only smirked when I replied, “In my opinion, potatoes make the best snacks. Now are you ready to go? Or do I have to sit through another outfit change?”
“You’re in luck. I already ran through all the outfits I bought with me. So unless you wanna drop-by my…”
“Nope! Let’s go,” I told her, practically dragging her out while I still had the chance. And it didn’t take long at all for us to get to Khalid’s house, though I was a little surprised when we pulled into the neighborhood that looked straight out of a middle-class magazine.
Similarly-designed two-story homes with monotonous color schemes, freshly manicured lawns, enough stray bikes scattered in the driveways to recognize there were kids in the neighborhood. And then there was Khalid’s house, with a driveway full of cars and even some lining the street in a way that reminded me of Londyn’s birthday party.
Clearly, this little shindig wasn’t as low-key as he made it sound. But it was too late to turn back now, especially since Mila was already out of the car before I even got a chance to turn it off. In fact, I was only able to catch up to her because she stopped on the sidewalk to acknowledge, “Okay, future baby daddy. This is niiiiiice.”
“Especially for someone on a security guard salary,” I said more to myself than her, becoming a little curious about just how much Khalid was making. I mean, it must’ve been pretty good money if he wasn’t in a rush to quit his job now that the money from our social media hustle was starting to come in. Then again, it c
ould’ve been the extra money that had allowed him to get the home in the first place.
Suddenly, I felt proud of myself. But that feeling almost got cut short the second we made our way up the stairs and I heard someone shout, “Jayla, you make me sick! Always lookin’ so damn fine. I need to take some bad bitch lessons with you, for real.”
From anyone else, I might’ve been a little taken aback. But coming from Londyn, someone I considered a friend and fellow bad bitch, I could only smile as I replied, “My little sister deserves all the credit. She’s the one who convinced me to change out of the Adidas tracksuit I wanted to wear.”
“I’m sure you looked bad in that too,” she responded as she pulled me into a quick hug; though her words didn’t pass without my little sister muttering, “More like an Idaho potato…” And the second I pulled away, she wasted no time introducing herself.
“I’m Jamila. I think I’ve seen you on Khalid’s Instagram story before. Londyn, right?”
With a proud smile, Londyn replied, “In the flesh. And I promise I’m a much nicer person off-camera. Khalid is just annoying.”
“Annoying and fine,” Jamila emphasized with a lick of her lips that told me she was definitely looking forward to seeing her “future baby daddy” even if he wasn’t exactly checking for her like that.
At least, I don’t think he’s checking for her like that.
Before I could get too in my head about it, Londyn rolled her eyes to reply, “The worst combination known to man.” Making Mila laugh as she insisted, “Let’s get inside. I’m sure Khalid will be happy to see you, Jayla.”
Since I wasn’t as sure of it as she seemed to be, I didn’t respond, instead let her lead us into the house as if it was her own and found it just as full as I imagined it would be.
Yep, definitely not low-key.
Londyn wasn’t at all fazed by the crowd, easing her way through the living room as she explained, “There’s plenty of food and alcohol in the kitchen. If there’s a song you wanna hear, just add it to the playlist on the iPad that’s hooked up to that adorable Hennessy speaker you gave Khalid to advertise. The bathroom is down the hall. And if you wanna smoke, you can do it on the back porch with the others. Did I miss anything?”
The Lessons We Learn Page 7
