Otis lumbers to his feet, yawns and strolls over, passing me to wait at the door, like I’m the holdup. I roll my eyes and brush a few stray hairs from Kassim’s shirt.
“Hey, I need to ask you something before you go, Si,” Preach says.
“Aight. Seem, go wait with Otis. Do not go outside. Stay in here.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, heading for the door.
“And did you tell Preach thank you?” I ask.
Kassim turns back around. “Sorry. Thank you.”
I let him get a few steps away before turning to Preach, who steps closer.
“What’s really real, bruh?” he asks in a low whisper. “Last time we talked, Yasmen was up in your house with Vashti and we had sleepover drama. Now y’all going on overnights. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” I lie easily. “Vashti and I broke up. Me and Yas went on a business trip. Simple.”
“When you and Vash break up?”
“Thanksgiving. It just wasn’t working.”
“Hey, it was your first time out after the divorce. Better luck next time.” He searches my face. “Unless you don’t want a next time and realize you ain’t all the way over your ex.”
“Nah, bruh.”
I laugh like it’s ridiculous. Preach saw me completely undone the night Yasmen asked for a divorce. Even as close as we are, I don’t want to tell him I not only still want her, but gave into it for a night that I can’t forget.
“This is me.” Preach places his hand on my shoulder and looks directly in my eyes. “You and Yas had that once-in-a-lifetime shit.”
“Well, we don’t anymore,” I say, shaking his hand off. “How’d Erykah put it? Maybe next lifetime.”
“I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t make sure.”
“She wanted a divorce. She got it. It may not have worked with Vashti, but I’ve moved on. Stop digging into this old shit, Preach. Even if we could start something back up, how could I ever trust Yas not to push me away at the first sign of trouble?”
“You’re both in different places now than you were then. I mean, she in therapy. You in therapy. Who would’ve guessed that? You the most tight-assed, repressed nigga I know.”
Hands in pockets, I rock back on my heels and let out a chuckle. It’s funny because it’s true.
“We don’t all get second chances, Preach.”
“Well, make another chance, and this time don’t fumble the bag.”
“Fumble the bag? I didn’t…”
The taunting smirk on his face tells me he’s messing with me.
“Asshole. I ain’t got time for your shit. I’m out.”
“Think about what I said.” He daps me up. “And if you won’t talk to me, maybe at least talk to your doc now that you all in touch with your feelings.”
In touch with my feelings is one way to put it.
Ifeelhard every time I’m near my ex-wife.
Ifeelrage at the thought of Mark Wannabe bringing my family Christmas trees, nose all wide open for Yasmen.
Ifeelfrustrated because the one night that was supposed to get her out of my system has backfired, and after tasting her again, having her again, holding her again, dammit, she’s embedded even deeper.